


Suscitatio

by Lamenta



Series: Graduum libertatis [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anders is a bit of a mess, Angry Sex, Angst, Biting, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age 2 Legacy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Grey Wardens, Hero of Ferelden - Freeform, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Isabela being Isabela, M/M, Minor Character(s), Partial Memory Loss, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Rough Sex, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Warden Stamina, although they may have skipped one step, mentioned past abuse, references/mentions concerning rape/non-con, slobbering mabari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 117,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamenta/pseuds/Lamenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of the "Graduum libertatis" - series and the follow-up to "Obscurus".</p><p>Tags and summary will be updated with the chapters!<br/>Translations, as far as needed, at the end of each chapter!<br/>Most chapters contain flashbacks of sorts - except it's a really really screwed up mind trying to sort itself out. They are in italics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders returns to the world of the living...at least, most of him.

Grey.

It was slowly fading, like a curtain being lifted from his vision and giving way to a more pleasant sensation.

Color.

It filled his surroundings; the wood was dark, the covers of his bed a dark red, not unlike the blood he could feel pumping through his veins. Through the open window he saw the pale blue summer sky. Sunlight was reflecting in the glass, bathing the space in front of the window in a gentle, golden light.

Sound.  
There were birds chirping and welcoming the day; he could hear clattering of plates from the kitchen downstairs and a gentle curse in Elven, a familiar voice that his mind yet failed to connect to a face. Female. Who was she? He should know. Her gentle voice was soon joined by amused laughter, a man, another sound familiar to him.  
The sound of heavy boots marching over paved sidewalks. Hushed voices from the streets. A dog barked.

Close to his head, he heard rapid panting, occasinally interrupted by a slurping sound. He remembered that one too. Dog, his mind supplied.

_I am not a dog person._

Scent.  
The air coming in through the window smelled of sweet flowers, fresh bread and salt and he breathed in deeply, letting the different scents fill his nostrils, the air fill his lung. In and out. In and out. Deliberating.

Then his nose wrinkled when the smell of dog breath mingled with it. Amber eyes finally focused and stared right into the face of a mabari sitting next to him by the bed and watching him intently. He almost looked like he was smiling when he yapped in greeting, then that disgustingly long tongue lolled out again and back it was to rapid panting.

_Canem._

No, that was not his name, his mind argued. It was the correct description of his kind, in a language he barely ever used.

Dog. Mabari. His name was Rogue.

Rogue.  
Hawke.  
Rogue Hawke.

He frowned, trying to put his mind into order.

“Anders?”

He sighed. Overly familiar voice. Hawke. Garrett Hawke. 

“Hey, you’re finally back with us,” Hawke said gently. Slowly, amber eyes lifted their gaze to the bearded face next to the mabari’s, a wide smile on the man’s lips. “You sure took your sweet time, Anders.”

“Needed my beauty sleep,” Anders mumbled. His voice sounded strange. Had it always sounded this strange or was this only because he hadn’t spoken in so long.

How long? 

Anders frowned.

“You were out for five days. Had us worried,” Hawke murmured, as if he had read Ander’s mind. “You took quite the blow. Take all the time you need. I’m just happy you’re finally awake. Happy you’re back with us.”

_Recupero et redeo ad me._

Hawke. He was at Hawke’s mansion. Anders allowed himself to look around, rolling to his back with a groan. Hawke’s bed chambers. The voices he’d heard, they belonged to Orana and Varric.

“How do you feel?” Hawke asked.

His chest felt tight, his limbs were sore. There was a disgusting weight on his lungs that he felt the incredible need to cough off, but Anders refrained, just taking a few more breaths that were mostly gasps.

“Anders.”

“Like an ogre sat on me,” the mage offered. “Yes, that sounds accurate.”

_Recupero et redeo ad me._

Hawke chuckled. “I guess that is partly true, although I am not sure which is heavier, a boulder or an ogre. We could find out, next chance we get.”

Anders forced himself to sit up. It was difficult, his muscles were weakened after five days of not moving at all.

“Merrill tried her best to keep you healthy while you slept. You must be starving. She only managed to get water and healing potions into you.”

Merrill.  
Dalish Elf. Blood mage. Naïve little thing.

_Come on, Anders. Breathe for me. You can do it._

Anders shook his head with a grimace.

“Do you remember what happened?”

_You cannot do this to me._

“I’m…not sure. Everything is still…quite fuzzy,” Anders murmured.

“Would you like something to drink?” Hawke asked.

_You need water.  
I don’t think you’re in any condition to worry about anyone but yourself right now._

With a groan, Anders rubbed his forehead. Slowly, his memory was returning, pieces coming together like the biggest puzzle Thedas had ever seen.

“I remember not being able to breathe,” Anders whispered. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Weight. Unberable weight. Crushing him. Crushing his ribcage, breaking ribs, sternum, tearing organs, muscles, squeezing his heart underneath broken bones. Blood. Fluid. Pressure. His heartbeat slowing. Lungs refusing to keep working.

That voice…

“Cave collapse,” Anders blurted out, the same moment everything returned to him. The Carta dwarf, spiders, bomb, collapse, boulders, separated from Hawke, Varric and Merrill. Pain. Cold.

Fenris.

“You remember?”

Anders exhaled shakily and returned his gaze to Hawke. The warrior looked worried. Tired. Had Hawke slept at all or had he kept watch by his side the entire time?

“I remember owing a Carta dwarf a kick in the ass,” Anders muttered.

“Varric took care of that two days ago,” Hawke answered with a chuckle.

“I remember dying,” Anders continued. Hawke turned serious again immediately.

“Yes,” the warrior confirmed.

“No.” Anders shook his head. “No. I was dead.”

“For a moment, it would seem.”

A shocking sensation coursing through his body. Jolting right through him, like lightning. Had it been lightning? No actual lightning. No. Magic. Merrill.

_“Again.”_

Shocked his heart back into beating.

“I died.”

_Justice, we actually died. For a moment._

No answer.

_Justice._

“Anders?”

“I actually died.” Anders shook his head slowly. Was that a smile tugging at his lips?

“It was a very close call,” Hawke confirmed. His voice was shaking slightly. “Damnit, Anders, much too close for our liking.” A hitch in the warrior’s voice now. 

Anders regarded him calmly. “You seem very upset,” he observed.

“Upset?” Hawke barked out a laugh. “To the Void with it, that doesn’t even come close to how I feel. Don’t you ever do something like that again, damn it.”

Anders felt an apology on his lips but it didn’t spill. Apologize for what? Why was Hawke upset? Why wasn’t _he_? He should feel relieved, Anders figured, happy to be alive but there was nothing.

Nothing except for the knowledge that there was something he was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Canem – (big) dog  
> Recupero et redeo ad me – Recover and return to me


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and co. find themselves faced with a different Anders.  
> Fenris finds himself not knowing what to think.  
> Anders' brain is still a complete mess.

When the noise reached his ears, Fenris reached for his sword instinctively before quietly making his way to the mansion’s front door, ready to cut down whoever was currently trying to break in. He stopped right at the door, listening to the scratching and bumping.

Then he heard a bark.

With a frown, Fenris slowly opened the door and peered outside. Rogue barked as soon as their gazed met and Fenris growled.

“Be quiet,” he told the dog. The mabari huffed at him and lowered his head to spit something right in front of the elf’s bare feet, making Fenris stagger back slightly. “I am in no mood to play games,” he informed the warhound. “Does Hawke require my presence?”

Rogue huffed again and nosed the object he’d dropped, then whined. Slowly, Fenris lowered his gaze to see what the dog had brought him.

His breath caught in his throat and he lowered his sword with a groan, the weight of it suddenly too much for his tired muscles.

“Is…he alright?” Fenris asked quietly.

The mabari tilted his head to the side, like he was pondering the question, then let out a few growling sounds and huffs. Fenris wondered for a moment if the dog truly believed he could actually form words.

“Does he wish to see me?”

Rogue glowered at him, then barked loud and sudden, making Fenris jump slightly.

“I…shall be at Hawke’s estate shortly.”

Apparently satisfied, Rogue picked up the Tevinter amulet and ran off, leaving Fenris to close the door swiftly before leaning heavily against it.

Five days. Five unbearably long days, filled with anxiety; doubt; uncertainty; angry shouting; accusations; pain.

Fear.

Fenris released a breath he wasn’t been aware he’d been holding, his head falling back against the heavy door with a thud. Anders had woken up. Relief flooded through him, only to be followed by despair, his body relaxing, then tensing up almost painfully, teeth baring at the feeling that made his chest feel too tight, his throat constricting and he swallowed a few times to get rid of the lump forming in his throat.

Anders had woken up.  
Did Anders want to see him? Was that why Rogue had been sent to inform him?

Would Anders want to see him, if he hadn’t been the one requesting his presence?

“Blighted mage,” Fenris growled and shook his head. “Enough of this,” he told himself firmly. “You will not pine over someone like him. You know better. He _taught_ you better.”

His back straightened for a moment as he tried to compose himself, but then Fenris found himself slumping against the door once again, a sigh escaping his lips.

“Demon,” he snarled into the empty mansion; the word thrown back at him multiple times as it echoed harshly.

 

~*~

 

Varric watched Anders closely as he sat at the large dining table, slowly eating the stew Orana had made, occasionally dipping a slice of bread into the sauce. He ate slowly, like a man expecting to die of poisoning any second. He made no comment on the food and Orana’s cooking skills, like he usually did because he knew Orana loved praise; the poor elf girl had retreated silently when the expected reaction did not come from the mage.

For someone who had claimed only half an hour ago that he was starving, Anders sure didn’t act like it.

“Not good?” Varric asked.

“Pardon?” Amber eyes focused on the dwarf.

“The food,” Varric clarified. “Don’t you like it?”

Anders lowered his gaze to the steaming bowl, contemplating. “I apologize. It seems my senses have not returned fully, yet. It tastes…”

“Awful?”

“Like nothing.”

Varric hummed.

“Anything else?”

“Your staring makes me uncomfortable?”

Varric chuckled. “Does it now? You usually would quip about me being entranced with that pretty face of yours, Blondie.” He winked. “Which, admittedly, I am…now and then. Don’t tell Bianca.”

Anders frowned at the dwarf. “Who?”

“Ah. Seems your memories have not returned fully, either, eh?” He leaned further across the table, causing the mage’s frown to deepen.

“What?”

“Anything else?”

“Varric, give him some space.” Hawke entered the dining room, fully dressed in his armor. “He was out like a light for five days, not to mention Merrill bringing him back from the dead. Surely, it will take some time for him to readjust.”

“What about your magic?” Varric asked, ignoring Hawke, or at least pretending to.

Anders lifted a hand. Almost immediately, there was a spark, then a flame dancing across the palm. “Seems fine,” he answered.

“You probably still have a few injuries left from the impact. Did you heal them yet?”

“Varric…” There was a warning undertone in Hawke’s voice.

“It’s fine,” Anders said. “I guess he’s worried. I probably would be, too.”

“Guess? Probably?” Varric’s thick eyebrows shot up. “Blondie, do you know me at all?”

“All I know is that your very hairy chest is almost in my stew,” Anders said icily, “and I’d be grateful if you backed off a little.”

There was a stunned silence, in which Varric slowly sunk back into his seat, eyes on Anders.

“I apologize,” Hawke said. “We’ve been pretty shocked over almost losing you. I guess we’re crowding you right now but we only mean good.”

“I know,” Anders murmured. “Remind me to thank Merrill later.”

At that, Hawke smiled. “I am on my way to pick her up. You know how she keeps getting lost in the city. I made sure you’ll have company while I’m gone.”

“Company.”

“I sent for Fenris.”

Fenris. 

“He was…pretty upset over everything that happened. I’m sure it’ll do him good to see you up and recovering.”

Varric snorted. “ _Upset_ , he says,” he muttered under his breath.

“Varric.” Again, that warning tone. Anders could feel a headache coming up.

“My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you.” Hawke and Varric shared a glance before the warrior left the estate to pick up Merrill in Lowtown.

The dwarf shrugged and flashed Anders a grin. “Not a good idea to piss off the elf, is it?”

Anders poked at his food, eyes slipping closed as more fragments of forgotten memories flooded his mind. Lips. Skin. The smell of sweat and sex and lyrium. Intoxicating.

“Internal monologue with Justice again?”

Amber eyes snapped open, staring curiously at the dwarf.

“Or just mentally preparing to be insulted and snarled at?” Varric added with a grin.

The blond mage shook his head. “I am sorry, Varric…I’m not quite…” He made a vague gesture with his free hand.

“And I am not helping.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, but it’s true.” Varric leaned back further, almost slumping in his chair. “I was worried sick, Blondie. I guess I just want to make sure you’re alright. That you’re still your sweet, flirty, overly sacrificial self. After all, you were in the Fade and your death, however short it was, made you vulnerable for…guests that are not as harmless as Justice.” The dwarf pondered for a moment. “Not that I’d call Justice harmless, but I prefer him over a demon.”

“I am not possessed,” Anders murmured. The stew was cooling and forgotten.

“Safe for the Fade spirit, of course.”

_I cannot do this anymore._  
_**Who will protect you?**_  
_Who will protect me from you?_  
_**I am no threat.**_  
_I’m sorry._

“Blondie?”

Anders focused on the dwarf again. He looked concerned. “You alright there?”

“I don’t know”, Anders answered truthfully.

Whatever Varric wanted to answer was interrupted by a slender form appearing in the dining room. Emerald green eyes focused on the mage’s hunched form and Varric saw the elf take a deep breath, swallowing hard.

“I believe you have a visitor,” Varric said. “My cue to return to the Hanged Man and take care of some business. I shall check on you later, Blondie, alright?”

Anders’ back straightened at those words and he glanced over his shoulder. Varric passed Fenris, greeting him quietly before murmuring something Anders couldn’t understand. The elf’s features darkened and he gave a sharp nod before bidding goodbye to the dwarf and slowly approaching the table.

Fenris took a seat opposite the mage and stared at him, unblinking.

“Mage.”

 _Recupero et redeo ad me._ That voice. No.

“Fenris.”

He could see the elf frown at his impassive tone.

“How…how are you feeling?”

_Strong hands holding his hips. Skin slapping against skin. The sweet moans spilling from those thin lips. Victory. Passion. Hate. Release. Confusion._

“Why are you here?” Anders asked. 

Green eyes widened in disbelief, lips parting as if to speak, then closing again. The elf was nervous; Anders could see his pointed ears twitch.

“How much do you remember?” Fenris eventually asked in a low voice, his eyes finally breaking contact and focusing on the table instead.

“I remember a cave collapsing above us. I remember being separated from Hawke and the others. I remember being stuck with you. I remember dying.”

Fenris swallowed hard at that.

“I remember us talking but I have no memory what about,” Anders continued, his tone still impassive. “I remember the dark.”

“It was…a day I would endeavor to forget about,” Fenris murmured.

“I don’t blame you. No fun being stuck with your least favorite person for any length of time, is it.”

Fenris lifted his gaze once again, studying Anders’ features. Like he was searching for something that Anders was not aware of or had most likely forgotten. Something inside the mage was unsettled by the looks the elf gave him and he couldn’t explain why. 

“I feel…nothing at all,” Anders murmured.

 

~*~

“So…what? Sparklefingers is like…Tranquil?”

Four pairs of eyes focused on Isabela, pure horror clearly visible in them.

“What?” the pirate asked, a little defensive. “He said he feels nothing at all.”

“He can’t be Tranquil,” Varric said. “He still can do magic. I _saw_ him do it earlier. Show them, Blondie!”

“It might be a little too early to cast spells,” Merrill piped up. “He’s still recovering.”

“Blondie?”

Anders had retreated to the far end of the entrance hall when his friends had started to crowd on him, all showing varying degrees of concern or pure fear. Arms wrapped around himself, he’d watched them argue back and forth.

Fenris had jumped up at Anders’ confession, about an hour ago, running out of the estate to catch Varric and make him come back. Shortly after, Hawke had returned, having met Merrill halfway to Lowtown. Isabela had shown up a few minutes ago and been updated on the state of “Sparklefingers’” health. Too many people at once for his exhausted mind to deal with.

With a sigh, Anders gestured almost rudely at the fireplace, an ice spell extinguishing the warm fire there. Five faces frowned at the sudden cold and lack of light.

“That was…pretty strong,” Merrill said after a moment. She sounded surprised. “Did that exhaust you?”

“Not as much as the five of you bickering and giving me a headache,” Anders shot back sharply. When five frowning faces were turned toward him, he sighed inaudibly. “I can’t say if it was exhausting or not,” he added, his voice calm now.

“Why not?” Varric asked.

“Because I can’t _feel_ it, for Maker’s sake!” Anders sent a rather strong fireball at the fireside, strong enough for Hawke to actually jump away a little before gazing curiously at the renewed fire.

“Dizziness?” Merrill asked.

“No.”

“So, you still have your connection to the Fade and you’re able to cast spells,” Isabela summed up. “But you don’t feel anything.”

Anders glared at her. “You’re thick, aren’t you.”

“Still a sweetheart, I see,” Isabela said around a mocked gasp, one hand coming to rest on her breasts. “Dying really did a number on you, eh, Sparklefingers?”

“You think that’s funny?” Hawke growled at her.

“Of course not,” Isabela spat back. “I can see something is clearly off, but what am I supposed to do about it, Garrett? Shake my tits and magically make it go away?”

“Who knows, that might work,” Varric teased with a grin.

Anders backed away slowly when Isabela stalked towards him. His back hit the wall and he found himself cornered by the pirate; a squeak escaped him when one of her slender hands grabbed his crotch and gave him a firm squeeze, fingertips teasing and massaging.

“What in the Void do you think you’re doing?” Anders gritted out. “Stop that! I have seen the rashes you have, I don’t fancy getting one myself.”

Isabela huffed at that, but the smirk on her lips told Anders she wasn’t insulted. She kept groping for another moment, the mage shifting uncomfortably, then frowned. “Huh…guess Little Anders is not interested.”

“Take your hands off him, pirate, if you know what’s good for you!” Anders heard Fenris snarl dangerously. “Now!”

“Oh ho ho…” Isabela winked at Anders with a smile, but let go of him. Anders took a deep breath to compose himself. “Sorry, Fen, didn’t know you finally claimed him as yours,” the pirate chirped.

Fenris’ ears flushed. “I did no such thing…but he’s uncomfortable enough as it is,” he muttered. “He doesn’t need his genitals groped by some whore that slept with half of Kirkwall.”

“Fenris!” Merrill gasped.

Isabela threw her head back and laughed loudly. Anders could feel everyone relax – save for Merrill, who seemed confused that the Rivain’s response.

“Ah, Sweet Cheeks, I so missed you throwing insults at me,” Isabela said cheerfully. “But I take your point and will stay away from your precious little mage.”

Fenris glared at her before letting his gaze wander across the room, intent on looking anywhere but at Isabela or Anders.

“Maybe this is connected to Justice,” Merrill offered as explanation. “Surely, your spirit has suffered just as much. He always wants to protect you…maybe this is some mechanism of his to ease you back into life, slowly?”

“Protect him?” Fenris snarled. “And where was that blighted demon when he was dying?”

“Oh, I am sure Justice was there, but with his host so weak and injured, even a Fade spirit cannot do much. Justice might have been…a little traumatized as well?”

The Tevinter elf pointed a shaky finger at Anders; he looked right-out furious. “I have seen Anders go down in battle before, due to injuries or exhaustion. Justice always took over to prevent worse things from happening. He could have done the same in the cave. That blighted _bastard_ could have gotten us out of that cave before it’s too late and he did _nothing_!"

“Fenris, calm down”, Hawke said gently. 

Surprisingly, Fenris did, lowering his arm and taking a deep breath. “He just let him die,” he added, gently. 

Anders cleared his throat. “About that,” he spoke up. “I believe I…owe you my life, Merrill.”

Merrill blushed at that and stared at her naked feet. “It was nothing,” she murmured with a smile. “I am just…I am very happy I could help.”

“Daisy did well,” Varric said, patting the small of her back.

The Dalish elf cleared her throat at that. “Well, my job is not done yet, yes? We have to find out why Anders is not feeling…well, anything, as he said. Maybe I did something wrong?”

Before Anders could argue, she approached him. A sharp, searching spell had him gasp and Merrill frown at him.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“It was…a little uncomfortable,” Anders admitted.

“Have you been able to feel Justice since you woke up? Has he spoken?” she continued.

“No.”

“Nothing at all?” Varric asked, surprised.

“No.”

The dwarf exchanged a look with Hawke. Fenris’ gaze was fixed on the blond mage as Merrill kept casting tiny spells to get a better picture of Anders’ current state.

“I thought you two are one?” Hawke asked.

Next to him, Varric shook his head slowly. “Wait a moment, Blondie…when I expressed my concern earlier about you having died and being a target for demons in the Fade, you said you are not possessed.”

Hawke, Merrill, Isabela and Fenris stared at Anders expectantly.

“Yes,” Anders confirmed.

“And you meant that.”

“Of course I meant that.”

“No, what I am trying to say is…” Varric gestured vaguely at the blond mage. “You _meant_ it. There is…nothing.”

Hawke frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“No demon. No Fade spirit.” Varric quirked an eyebrow at the warrior. “No Justice.”

Fenris green eyes widened at that. Anders wasn’t sure if the elf looked shocked or pleasantly surprised.

“Didn’t you always say the only way to separate the two of you again is you dying? So your soul can be separated from Justice in the Fade?” Varric asked.

“I…” Anders frowned. “I might have. I don’t remember.”

“And you did die,” the dwarf continued. “You were dead for several moments until Daisy managed to get your heart to start beating again. Would that have been enough to separate from Justice?”

“Would that be possible?” Hawke asked.

Fenris started moving then, straight for Anders, who found himself once again cornered against the wall. “Let’s find out,” he growled, lyrium brands flaring up, so bright that Anders squinted at him. One hand lifted, phasing and Anders’ first instinct was to flee.

“No, don’t!” he shouted at the elf. He could hear Hawke giving a warning yell when that same phased hand pushed into his body. His breath stuttered and a choked sound escaped Anders’ when a hand curled around his fast beating heart, body going rigid against the wall. Amber eyes stared into green ones, hearing the lyrium sing loudly in his ears, loud enough to drown out the humming of his own blood; his body reacting to the attack by releasing adrenaline, his pulse speeding up.

Fenris seemed to wait for something, but for what, Anders couldn’t say, too focused on the sickening feeling of a hand touching his insides, almost cradling his rapidly beating heart and making it harder to breathe with each passing moment. Fenris’ features changed from scrutinizing to surprise and slowly, he withdrew his hand.

“Anders?”

He didn’t even fight his buckling knees, letting himself sink to the floor, slumped against the wall as Anders caught his breath. His head spun.

“Anders.” 

Slender, yet strong arms enveloped him and Anders felt himself being pulled against Fenris’ lithe, solid form. Anders let out a choked gasp against the crook of the elf’s neck.

“Is he alright?” he distantly heard Varric ask. “Andraste’s sweet ass, elf, what did you do?”

“Anders?”

Anders couldn’t tell the voices apart anymore. There was movement, people talking to him but he could concentrate on nothing but the sick feeling, the spinning head and Fenris’ warmth.

“Dimitte me,” Fenris murmured against his ear. Anders hummed, a feeling of contentment spreading in his chest as he allowed darkness to take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Recupero et redeo ad me – Recover and return to me  
> Dimitte me – Forgive me


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, how did Anders and Fenris even end up 'together' in the first place?  
> Aka, Fenris is spilling his guts - to Varric.

The first temptation Fenris had not been able to withstand had been freedom. Too great had been the taste he’d gotten while living with the Fog Warriors, slowly learning what it meant to be free, to make your own decisions, to be allowed to say no, to fight only for yourself and not at the command of someone else.

His first regret had been forgetting all he’d learned from the Fog Warriors when Danarius had returned to take him home; the way he had blindly followed his master’s order to kill them all. It hadn’t been a simple display of power, Fenris knew. When their eyes at met, Danarius knew Fenris had changed a great deal and he was not pleased that the elf he claimed his own, the warrior, the Lyrium Ghost, he had created had learned there was a different life possible than one at the beck and and call of a magister. Following Danarius’ orders was an instinct like breathing; he was in thrall to the mage, his commanding voice blending out everything else.

But still, Danarius had not completely succeeded that day. Fenris had come to his senses, after the deed was done; standing in a field of corpses, smelling blood, disbelief and grief, Danarius’ voice lost its power and he was running. Running for his freedom that he had paid for with the blood of innocents. Their sacrifice had been great and Fenris honored these men and women to this day.

 

The second temptation he had found himself unable to resist was Anders.  
Fenris had believed to know everything about mages when he’d come to Kirkwall, and he wanted nothing to do with them. He’d almost declined Hawke’s offer to help after Fenris had set them up for a trap for his own bargain, when he realized the nature of one of Hawke’s companions. He was oozing power like no other mage Fenris had ever come across and he was sure that even Danarius would have known not to underestimate the apostate.

Anders was passionate, kind hearted, incredibly beautiful and a mage and Fenris hated him for it. He thought it had to be fate that he’d come upon one of the kind he hated, that had ruined, tainted his life to find himself helplessly falling for him. Despite himself, that entire night it took to clear out Danarius’ mansion, to find that bastard Fenris wanted dead more than anything else, he could not help looking at him; lose himself in those amber eyes, resisting the urge to run a hand through that soft-looking golden hair and trying not to listen whenever Anders spoke in that gentle, warm voice.

If Fenris had thought that learning Anders was an abomination would end this unexplainable attraction he felt for him, he soon realized he was wrong. It was liberating to talk back to a mage, insult him, point out his wrongs, kicking at him when he was already down but each time he lashed out at Anders, it pained him just as much. It was unfair. Anders was supposed to be like those disgusting, power-hungry monsters in Tevinter and he was the complete opposite.

It took him three years to understand that he didn’t hate Anders, but the hatred his life had left him with to gnaw on. The constant internal battle between never wanting to give in again to another mage and the desire to crawl under Anders’ skin and remain there, happy and content. Begging the blond to love him, the man who never looked down at him, never made him feel like he was nothing more than a tool, a thrall to do with as he pleased; who took every verbal blow from the elf without losing control once and punishing him, like his former master would have without hesitation. They both knew it wouldn’t take Anders much effort to end Fenris’ life if he wanted to and Fenris kept snarling and pushing, wanting the mage to show his true face to prove Fenris right.

They argued; they both stood their ground, they both took turns in trying to convince Hawke that the other was useless and a danger to them all. They taunted each other, often only a breath away from fighting physically instead of verbally, but they never crossed that line, never went past that point of no return.

Fenris hated himself for desiring the other man so badly, it often left him sleepless at nights, if the pain his markings caused didn’t. 

It was an unexpected act of kindness that changed everything for Fenris.

///

Fenris slowly got up and distanced himself from Hadriana’s dead body.

“We’re done here,” he grunted at Hawke, pushing past him. He needed to get out, needed to get away from that witch that had tormented him for years, laughing cheerfully as she did so. The satisfaction he’d felt crushing her heart in her chest was ebbing away much faster than he would have thought.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hawke asked gently.

Fenris whipped around, suddenly angry without knowing why. “No, I don’t want to talk about it!” he snarled and before he could stop, the sudden weight on his chest, the sudden feeling of nausea formed words spilling from his lips, anger, despair, a glimpse of hope, the desire to believe what Hadriana had said about him having a sister and yet fearing what it would mean if she had told him the truth.

“May she rot and all the other mages with her,” he spat bitterly at the end of his diatribe. Hawke frowned at him; Varric groaned, already knowing what was going to come now.

Anders? Anders got angry. Like Fenris knew he would.

“Oh, never mind me,” he spat at the elf. “Not like a _mage_ just helped you taking that bitch…” He pointed his staff at Hadriana’s lifeless form. “…down for good, you ungrateful bastard!”

“You saw what was done here!” Fenris exclaimed angrily, gesturing around. “There’s always going to be some reason, some excuse why _mages_ need to do this! Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her.” He took a deep breath, his lungs demanding oxygen. “What has magic touched that it doesn’t spoil?”

“Fenris,” Hawke said warningly. “Don’t even go there.”

“Blighted elf!” Anders snapped. “If you’d quit your whining for a few minutes and looked past that bottled up hate, you’d see a lot of things that magic doesn’t ‘spoil’.”

“Anders, the same goes for you!” Hawke ventured. “Please, cut it out, both of you.”

“I will not debate with an _abomination_ ,” Fenris grunted.

Something flashed in Anders’ eyes and before Fenris had a chance to react, the mage whirled his staff around once, twice, then aimed at the elf, a powerful spell knocking him off his feet.

“Hey, hey, Blondie!” Varric said soothingly. “Don’t kill the elf.”

“Hah!” Anders snorted. “As if I’d help proving his _nonexistent_ point!”

Fenris blinked up at Hawke, who was kneeling next to him, a concerned look on his face. “Are you alright?” he asked; the look in his eyes, though, clearly said: ‘Sorry, but you did ask for it.’ Fenris had, but what had him confused was the fact that, whatever spell it had been Anders had cast at him, knocking him off his feet and the air out of his lungs – it hadn’t hurt. He could feel it doing _something_ inside his body but it wasn’t painful. Not what he’d expected.

“I…” Again, Fenris blinked, his anger suddenly gone as Hawke helped him back to his feet. By the time Fenris managed to compose himself, the mage had disappeared. Varric shrugged when Hawke threw him a questioning glance.

Hawke’s strong hand gripped Fenris’ arm, squeezing gently. “Alright?” he asked.

Fenris instinctively flinched when Hawke’s thumb ran over his markings in a soothing manner, then found himself pause. “Hawke.”

“Yes?”

“Can you do that again?”

Hawke lifted an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“What you just did.”

The warrior flicked his thumb over the marks once again. Fenris felt – nothing. No, he thought, that wasn’t true. He felt the touch, the _sensation_ of the touch. It made his skin tingle.

“Again.”

A slow grin spread on Hawke’s lips when he literally started to pet Fenris’ arm. “Wasn’t aware you like being pet like a mabari, Fenris,” he teased good-naturally. Varric chuckled.

Fenris’ breath caught in his throat.

“What’s going on?” Varric asked.

“It…it doesn’t hurt.”

Hawke pulled his hand away, lips pursed. Fenris knew he was remembering that one time he’d grabbed Fenris’ to prevent him from slipping down a rock and his almost violent reaction to the touch, the pained cry and Fenris’ shaking body. Fenris then had to explain how painful the markings were when touched, which is why he had so often avoided one of Hawke’s infamous bear hugs. It was too much to take, each time.

“At all?” Hawke asked curiously.

Fenris slowly shook his head, disbelief written all over his face.

Hawke hummed at that, giving Fenris a look that spoke volumes before declaring loudly that they should catch up with Anders and return to Kirkwall.

They never caught up with Anders – Fenris had no idea how the mage had managed to get away so quickly – but they entered Kirkwall by nightfall and his markings still didn’t hurt. He’d thought it a fleeting thing, a reaction to the spell Anders had cast at him that would pass soon but it had been hours and the pain still hadn’t returned. Instead, Fenris noticed his body starting to relax, the tension of years spent in constant pain slowly seeping out of him, leaving him tired, exhausted and looking forward to his bed.

They parted ways in Hightown, near the marketplace, but instead of returning to the run-down mansion Fenris inhabited, he found himself making his way to Darktown and Anders’ clinic. It lay in complete darkness when he arrived, doors locked, the lantern extinguished. No sound came from inside when Fenris pressed his ear against the door and for a moment, he was worried that Anders never made it back to Kirkwall. 

Instead of knocking, Fenris activated his brands, marvelling how that caused no pain either and phased through the door.

He was welcomed by the blunt end of a staff hitting his stomach, sending him to his knees and making him taste bile.

“Get out,” Anders growled at him. “I have absolutely no patience for you anymore, at least not today.”

Fenris coughed to relieve the tension in his abdominal muscles, one lyrium-lined hand clutching at his stomach. “How did you…?”

“I’m a mage. You’re covered in lyrium. It responds to my magic. I always know when you’re near.”

Fenris nodded. He could feel Anders relax when the elf didn’t immediately leap to his feet to attack him.

“Go.”

“What did you do to me?”

Fenris dared looking up; Anders looked every bit as exhausted as he felt and Fenris found he had no desire to argue with the mage any more today.

“It worked?” Anders sounded surprised.

“That depends on what you meant to achieve, mage.”

Anders didn’t say anything but he studied Fenris for a moment. “The pain is gone, isn’t it.”

“What did you do to me?” Fenris asked again.

The mage sighed and distanced himself from Fenris, leaning his staff against the wall next to the door that led to his private rooms.

“I saw Hadriana casting a spell that made you cringe in pain because it affected, or controlled, your markings. And I know they already hurt enough as it is, Hawke told me. Not that he would have needed to, because I know part of your insufferable moods stem from the fact that the pain keeps you from getting enough sleep at night.”

Fenris frowned and Anders rolled his eyes. “I’m a healer, blighted elf. A Spirit Healer, I do notice things. I’m not as ignorant as you are.”

“Do not test my patience, mage,” Fenris growled.

“I took a moment to learn the spell she used and thought it might be a good idea to try its counterpart.” Anders gestured at him. “And that would be the result.”

“You…” Fenris blinked, surprised. “You can do that?”

“I’m pretty adaptive when it comes to magic.”

“Will…will it last?”

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see, Fenris.”

Fenris watched Anders take off his feather pauldron and coat, leaving him in only his pants, boots and a slim fitting, worn shirt, revealing a slender, almost delicate body, too thin to be healthy, yet still pleasant to look at. Next was Anders’ hair as he pulled out the tie, letting it fall dowb to his slender shoulders. 

The mage was getting ready for bed and Fenris found himself unable to take his eyes off him as desire made itself known once again. He’d never seen Anders like this before, wondered, yes but only left with guessing and images from heated dreams he’d rather the mage never learned about. It was like the mage was stripping off his defenses for the elf, letting him see that, by the end of the day, he was just a man, not a monster, or an abomination, but someone real, fragile as he stood there, glancing at Fenris across his shoulder.

“It’s late,” Anders said. “And I really need sleep. Now, get out of my clinic or I’ll _throw_ you out and that’s not going to be as pleasant as the spell I cast at you earlier.”

As much as Fenris was unable to stop staring at the mage, he could not make his body move. Anders’ eyes narrowed at him when Fenris wouldn’t get up, slender hands working on loosening the ties of his shirt.

“You can thank me later, insufferable elf. At least it’ll make you less of a liability now.”

Anders’ tone was sharp but Fenris could hear the concern – and a hint of relief – in his words and he knew Anders hadn’t done it for himself or the safety of their companions. He’d done it for Fenris – and Fenris had done absolutely nothing to deserve it.

His body moved then, onto his feet and toward Anders instead of the door. The mage walked backwards, trying to keep the distance between Fenris and himself, one hand reaching for his staff.

Fenris surged forward, catching the mage’s wrist before he could reach it, his other hand grabbing a fistful of blond hair. Amber eyes widened at him and the elf could see a hint of fear in them.

“Let go off me,” Anders said, his voice trembling.

Fenris pulled the mage’s head down, their mouths crashing together. He immediately parted his lips and kissed, demanding, hungry.

Anders pushed him away, his hand slapping hard across Fenris’ cheek. The elf welcomed the pain and the stop it put to his actions. The mage was furious when he looked up to him.

“What in the Void were you thinking?” Anders asked breathlessly.

Fenris replied by grabbing the mage’s shirt and ripping the ties open, letting one hand roam over the other man’s chest. The skin was warm and soft beneath his fingertips; he could feel the rapid beating of the mage’s heart when he let them dance across the other man’s sternum.

When he pulled Anders close for another kiss, the mage didn’t resist.

When he pushed Anders into the back of the clinic and onto the mage’s sorry excuse for a bed, the blond didn’t object. They didn’t speak a single word as they hastily undressed each other, naked bodies coming together, seeking release, moving in perfect unison, tasting, learning each other. It was rough, it was egoistic on both sides and yet better than the dreams that had had Fenris wake up sweat-soaked and aroused more times than he cared to admit.

And Fenris kept coming back for more, if Anders didn’t seek him out first. They never talked about it but the unspoken agreement that this was something their companions needn’t know about was present in their mind. They met in the clinic, Fenris’ mansion, when it was dark and safe, after spending the day working each other up with arguments and insults, fucking the mutual dislike out of each other until they were sated, too pliant to resist each other, if only for a few minutes until either got up and left the other’s home without another word.

Fenris had thought things would change between them because sex did that to people. That, eventually, they’d get past their differences, he past his deep-rooted hatred that seemed to vanish whenever he looked at Anders. Fenris knew he had changed, that he’d given up fighting what he felt for the mage and kept searching for signs, a small hint, that Anders felt something more than hate for him as well. But the mage kept to himself, never letting anything show.

Not until that night, where Fenris had misread the signs of the mage’s body, causing him pain and humilation, watching in horror when the gauntlets he’d been about to take off tore into pale, freckled flesh, leaving deep, bleeding wounds. Instead of getting angry at him, Anders took the blame for what happened; allowed Fenris to comfort him, falling asleep in his arms after their first kiss that wasn’t brutal, bruising and demanding. And Fenris had wanted to stay that night, break yet another of their rules and hold the mage as he slept.

 

///

Varric was silent when Fenris stopped talking, regarding the elf calmly. Fenris’ gaze was fixed on the flames dancing in the fireside. They had retreated to Hawke’s library; or rather, Fenris had, after Hawke had put Anders back into bed, not able to bear the questioning or even accusing looks his friends had given him.

It wasn’t easy to escape Varric, though and the dwarf had soon found him, closing the door to the library loudly and demanding the answers he’d been waiting for since the cave-in.

“So, why didn’t you?” Varric eventually asked. “Stay, I mean.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Who was stopping you?”

Fenris huffed. “I realized that I cannot continue our trysts.”

“Hum.” Varric scratched his nonexistent beard. 

“And yet I find myself regretting that decision, without understanding why,” Fenris continued. 

“Really?” the dwarf asked dryly. “I’d have an idea or two…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fenris hissed.

“I heard what you said to him, elf,” Varric argued. “I may not be fluent in Tevene but I know a word or two and I _heard_ what you called him in the cave. And I heard every single word you just said to me and the underlying messages in them are screaming loud and clear, just so you are aware.”

Fenris visibly slumped. “Do not say a word of this to the mage.”

“Why? Don’t you think Anders has the right to know?”

“I will not make myself vulnerable to a man who despises me.”

Varric sighed. “Anders does not despise you, Fenris. You’re giving him a hard time because he’s a mage and he gets defensive. A man who despises you wouldn’t come up with a spell to relieve you of the pain your markings caused. A man who despises you wouldn’t take you to his bed, repeatedly, or risk his own life saving yours.” He leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands in his lap and giving Fenris a stern look. “A man who despises you wouldn’t cling to you like a scared child, seeking protection and comfort.”

Fenris let his gaze drift from the dancing flames to Varric’s serious expression. The look on his face was hard to make out in the half-dark, green eyes mostly hidden beneath snow-white hair.

“Alas, I do agree that it would not be a good idea to try and get answers from a man who isn’t quite himself at the moment, so I will not say anything,” Varric added.

The elf nodded.

“So. Did it last?”

“What?”

“The spell.”

Fenris let his gaze wander over the markings on his right arm, glowing faintly in the dim light the flames spent.

He smiled timidly.

“Yes.”


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders finds himself back in his clinic and makes an unpleasant discovery.

“I am home.”

Anders glanced to Justice standing next to him. Something resemblig relief and joy on the spirit’s face as he looked around. He found himself smiling at the spirit and Justice’s obvious happiness.

“Welcome home, Justice,” he murmured.

“My joy is unjust in the face of your sacrifice.” Justice sounded apologetic.

“I was crushed by a boulder and I certainly didn’t plan on it, so I am not sure if one could call it a sacrifice.” 

“Too many things have been left behind,” Justice spoke up again. “We cannot leave them untended. We must finish our tasks.”

Justice reached for Ander’s arm, grabbing it. Anders stopped the spirit by placing a hand against his chest.

“No,” he said firmly. “ _I_ have tasks I need to see to an end, Justice. You don’t belong outside the Fade.”

“We are one!”

“I cannot do this anymore.” Anders looked at his friend with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry, Justice. Joining with you took more from me than I had anticipated and you have been tainted with all the negative feelings inside me. This is your chance to be free.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, but no is not an option.”

“Who will protect you?” Justice seemed to tower over him; Anders felt threatened enough to call upon his magic, ready to strike if needed.

“Who will protect me from you?” he countered. “Who will protect me from you when you finally decide to take over completely, bereft me of control over my own body and mind?”

The spirit seemed taken aback at that. “I am no threat,” he reasoned. “The Templars are. Have you forgotten what they did to you and your kind? What they are still doing?”

“Not for a second,” Anders replied bitterly.

“Then we shall return together, friend.”

Anders found himself being pushed toward the path back that had remained open; toward the voices that beckoned him to return.

_**I’m begging you, Anders. Please. Open your eyes.** _

Anders stopped walking, refusing to be pushed on by Justice.

_**Don’t leave me alone.** _

_**Breathe. Breathe for me. Allow the potion to work. You can do it.** _

_**Open your eyes, Anders. You cannot do this to me!** _

“We must hurry,” Justice informed him. “Your body will not be able to hold out any longer and then the path will be lost to us.”

Anders shook his head, still standing his ground.

“No.”

_**Open your eyes, Anders.** _  
_**Anders.** _

~*~

 

Anders jolted awake, grimacing at the tension in his neck and blinked at the sturdy wood of his work desk. Confusion set in for a moment until he remembered he’d left Hawke’s mansion to go to Darktown and take a look at his clinic. 

He’d found it securely locked up, well stocked and cleaned; empty and silent. Standing in the doorway, he remembered the days where the clinic had been so busy, he barely had a moment to take a breath, more often than not one step away from suffering lyrium poisoning because he kept knocking the potions back, one after one, as soon as his mana had run dry, healing left and right, offering an open ear to the worries of one and the mourning of another over a loved one lost. He’d collapse into the chair at the very desk he’d fallen asleep on, spending hours he should spend sleeping and recovering writing his manifesto.

Anders remembered being passionate about his manifesto; his outlet for his anger, frustration, his own sorrows, Justice’s constant howling and screaming at the injustice of everything he and his kin had suffered at the hands of Templars and under the cover of the Chantry. He’d put up theses, debated why mages had the same rights as everyone else, that no mage had chosen to be one, a gift given at birth that could be used for the greater good if people would just let them.

Reading a few pages before promptly falling asleep on his manifesto, as it seemed, Anders could not comprehend why he had been so passionate about it in the first place; the memory was there but…

He flipped through another few pages, reading words he couldn’t remember writing and figured that had been Justice’s doing and shook his head at it and himself. He’d argued and fought for others like him, but not himself. Why not just say the truth? Why not tell Grand Cleric Elthina about his experiences in the Circle? What it was like, being kept in solitary for a year and what it had caused inside him? What it was like to receive severe punishment just because he wanted to go outside to see the sunlight and breathe some fresh air? To be humilated, _abused_ , in more than one way, by those supposed to protect them? To lie awake at night, hearing the screams, the sobbing, the begging, sometimes those of others, sometimes his own?

_Mages’ gift are granted by the Maker._  
_If the Maker blames magic for the magisters’ actions in the Black City, why would he still gift us with it?_

Us.  
Anders had never been the most selfless person; he used to fight for himself, to care only about his own freedom, which had led to him becoming a Grey Warden – for completely egoistic reasons. It had been his chance at freedom; he’d favored this over being locked away in a Circle, or hung, if Ser Rylock had her way, even if being a Grey Warden came with a lot of physical changes and terrifying nightmares.

_**I understand that you struggle against your oppression, mage.** _  
_I avoid my oppression. That’s not quite the same thing, is it?_

“The oppression of mages stems from the fear of men, not the will of the Maker,” Anders read aloud of of the sentences from his manifesto. That was at least one thesis he still stood behind full-heartedly.

_**I believe you have a responsibility to your fellow mages. You have seen oppression and now are free. You must act to free those who remain oppressed. You have an obligation.** _

With a groan, Anders closed his manifesto, then pushed it off his desk, sending it flying across the clinic floor. Burying his face in his palms, he once again willed his scattered mind to just _spare_ him, give him a break. 

“I have an obligation,” he muttered, then chuckled to himself. “Why did I ever listen to you, you pathetic fuck?”

Silence met with his question.

“I was free. Finally free, maybe obligated to some extend, but I was free, Justice, and then you made me become _this_. Instead of being oppressed by the Templars, the Circle, the damn Chantry, I was oppressed by a self-righteous Fade spirit and gave up everything I had and everything I could have had because you poisoned my mind with your ideas of justice and wouldn’t let me rest until you were satisfied.”

Still no answer.

“My body is ruined, my mind broken, my life is worth nothing anymore and when I would have needed you, you let me down, you arrogant asshole! And now you hide away and remain silent, you coward. Answer me.”

Silence.

Anders could feel something surge up inside him, burning like fire in his bloodstream, not unlike the sensation he’d felt when going through the Joining ritual at Vigil’s Keep. He’d felt safe then; the Warden Commander, Hero of Ferelden, had a talent to make people feel safe around him, even if they barely knew him.

He missed that wonderful bastard of an elf.

“I had a home, Justice. You took that away from me,” he whispered bitterly. 

Anger.  
Anders wouldn’t have expected the first emotion to return to him would be anger, but it was right there, coursing through him like a storm, making him tremble as he tried to remain calm.

“Answer me, you son of a bitch,” he demanded, his voice rising. “You owe me that, at the very least.”

The silence felt demeaning by now; anger turned into rage and with a shout, Anders jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair.

“What is it, _demon_? Is that my punishment for saying no? You blighted son of a…” Anders paused to swallow, hard. “Where are you, you useless scum?” he screamed into the emptiness of his clinic. “Why deny me now? Give some Maker be damned answers!”

He felt it blossom underneath his skin; crawling through his veins like the blood of the Darkspawn did during the Joining ritual, unstoppable and strong. He could feel a spell gathering in his left palm and with another shout, without another thought, he cast a terrifyingly powerful Spirit Bolt at the cupboards filled with his supplies, the cupboards someone had recently filled up for him. Bottles cracked, glass splintered, the contents of the bottles reacting with the bolt, sparking, smoldering, filling the thick, smelly Darktown air with the scents of herbs and a burnt smell.

Anders stood, wide-eyed and panting heavily, his gaze fixed on his hands where familiar cracks of blue threatened to tear his skin apart. They hurt, not unbearably, but they did, something Anders never had experienced before and he’d been in this state often enough whenever Justice had reached for control.

When the blue cracks slowly faded, Anders allowed his gaze to travel to the mess he’d created. Whoever had made the effort to restock him for the time he was able to return, it was ruined now. The entire cupboard was gone, shelves splintered, their contents in a smoldering, hissing pile on the floor.

Slowly, Anders let himself sink to the floor; he was exhausted now and there was still no trace of the familiar second voice in his mind. 

_Then we shall return together, friend._  
_No._

“What have I done?” Anders murmured. “Where are you?”

 

~*~

Anders didn’t know how long he had remained on his clinic’s floor until he heard the familiar creak of the door. Heavy footsteps were followed by light ones.

“Sweet Maker!” Hawke. “Now we have to clean up all over again!”

“Venhendis, what did you do?” Fenris. “Mage!”

“I’m sorry…” Anders whispered.

Someone approached him quickly. Strong hands grabbed his arms and shook him.

“Mage! What happened?”

Anders glanced up into deep green eyes. “Me, I guess.”

“Did someone attack you?” Hawke asked, concerned. “Did the Templars come by?”

“No. I just…” Anders shook his head. “I…got angry.”

Stunned silence. Fenris’ eyes widened a fraction, staring in disbelief.

Hawke hummed. “Sure looks it. What did you get so angry about?”

“I’m a monster.” Anders’ voice cracked at that. Fenris’ eyes widened further. “Justice is gone and I am a monster that no longer has control over himself.”

“What are you talking about, mage?” Fenris asked. He sounded concerned. Something warm and calming sparked inside Anders’ chest. Something…

Anders gave Fenris a long, thoughtful look. What was it about that blighted elf, that his mere presence was now a source of contentment and comfort for him? What was it that his subconscious mind refused to reveal? What made Anders feel so protective over his rival?

“What is it that I can’t see, Fenris?” he whispered. “What is it about you that I can’t remember?”

Surprise gave way to remorse in the green depths and Anders suddenly felt even more tired than he had before.

“Something happened to Justice and I don’t remember what. Something happened to me and it scares me,” the mage continued in a low voice. “My magic has always been rather powerful, but it never enabled me to pretty much tear my clinic apart at one blow.”

“Calm down, Anders,” Hawke said gently. “You’re still recovering. It’s not surprising your powers are out of control.” 

“Or maybe the witch screwed up,” Fenris snarled at Hawke. “Have you ever considered that?”

Hawke sighed. “She did not use blood magic on him, did she?”

“How do we know? How do we know what spells she cast at him when she revived him? We never asked!”

“And we shouldn’t. She did what she had to do, else we’d be mourning at Anders’ grave now,” Hawke pointed out. “You asked her to keep going, Fenris, if I may remember you of that. You screamed and begged and _cried_ , Fenris.”

_**I’m begging you, Anders. Please. Open your eyes.** _  
_**Don’t leave me alone.** _  
_**You cannot do this to me!** _

Anders groaned when his confused mind made itself known once again; Fenris visibly bristled and immediately released his hold on Anders, jumping back like he’d just been burned. “You…” There was fury in the elf’s voice now. “You _promised _, Hawke!”__

__“And you should remember to be thankful she did as you asked and gave you what you wanted.”_ _

__“It’s not Merrill’s fault,” Anders interrupted the two arguing men. “Stop. Both of you.”_ _

__Fenris’ glowered at Hawke, but some of the tension left his body as he regarded the mage._ _

__Hawke cleared his throat. “Do you…feel good enough to get up and return to the estate, Anders?”_ _

__“I am not sure I should be around either of you until I know what’s wrong with me.” Anders glanced at his slightly trembling hands; remembered the cracks, the pain coming from them, his mind trying to find a logic explanation but it came up with nothing._ _

__“You should not be on your own,” Fenris argued. “Not while you are…like this.”_ _

__“Fenris is right,” Hawke agreed. A silent peace offer to the still angry elf. “Let’s get you back, alright?”_ _

__Anders allowed Hawke and Fenris to pull him back to his feet. He barely listened to Hawke’s encouraging babbling about how they’d remove the mess and simply restock the clinic again, but now that the anger had subsided, Anders felt something else return – an immense feeling of gratitude. The emotion was so strong, he could feel tears gather in his eyes and he swallowed them down._ _

__His feet dragged as they led him out of his clinic and toward the secret passage that led to the basement of Hawke’s estate. Anders froze as he peered into the darkness ahead._ _

__“What’s wrong?” Hawke asked._ _

__“I…I can’t…” Anders shook his head. “Too dark.”_ _

__Fenris lifted an eyebrow at the mage. “How did you get here then?”_ _

__“I –“ Anders frowned. “I don’t remember.”_ _

__How did he get to the clinic? Had he walked the entire way and used the staircases and lifts? Had he taken the secret passage earlier?_ _

__Why had he felt the need to go to the clinic in the first place? What had he hoped to find here?_ _

__Anders saw Hawke and Fenris exchange a worried glance and his chest tightened._ _

__“It doesn’t matter,” Hawke eventually decided. “We can take a long walk back home then, if you don’t feel up to use the passage.”_ _

__Fenris let his brands light up. “Will this help?” he asked the mage and gestured toward the entrance to the passage. “You look too exhausted to make it the long way back.”_ _

__Anders gazed at Fenris in wonder, like he saw the lit brands for the first time. Slowly, an image formed in the back of his mind. The cave. The dark after the collapse. Fenris activating those very same brands to put him at ease._ _

__“Thank you,” he murmured and a smile slowly began to spread, softening his features and a spark returning to his eyes. When Fenris seemed unable not to smile in return, Anders’ own smile widened._ _


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time to pay Bartrand a long overdue visit to discuss what happened in the Deep Roads. They did not expect so much blood shed ahead; Fenris did not expect finding himself faced with Not-Really-Vengeance...and being alright with it, somehow. And Anders? Anders did not expect the night to be so revealing, in some regard.
> 
> Warning: This chapter is reaaaaaaaally long.  
> This is based on the Act III quest "Family Matters". Obviously, it was altered some to fit the story.  
> Translations found at the end once again.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and the kudos! After years of not writing a word, you make it all the more fun :)

Fenris trotted listlessly after Varric across Lowtown and toward the docks. The dwarf was humming a happy tune, greeting shady figures hiding away in the dark of Lowtown’s several corners and merchants, having wrapped up their business for the day and heading home, alike. Fenris wondered if there was anyone in Kirkwall Varric didn’t know. Varric’s seemingly endless sources had served them well in the past, but very often, Fenris found himself questioning just how trustworthy and loyal their dwarfen companion really was.

It had been raining all day. Varric seemed unfazed by it, but Fenris’ armor had become really uncomfortable to wear throughout the last few hours. He still didn’t know why Varric had insisted Fenris accompanied him to a meeting with some Carta dwarves. Sure, Fenris could be very intimidating if he wanted and Varric probably liked having a backup, but it wasn’t like the rogue couldn’t very well handle himself against a dozen opponents, as long as Bianca was with him.

“Where are we headed?” Fenris muttered. “It’s getting late. I thought you wanted to pay your brother’s estate a visit?”

“Just to the warehouses by the docks, Broody, then we’ll meet Hawke and Isabela at the mansion, as planned,” Varric replied with a grin. 

“What business do you have to tend to at the docks?”

“Curiousity killed the cat, did anyone ever tell you that?”

Fenris scowled at the dwarf and paused his steps. “You want my help with Bartrand or not?”

“Alright, alright, Broody. Andraste’s tits, your mood swings are worse than the shit weather in Kirkwall.” With a smirk, Varric patted his breast pocket. “I promised Blondie to send off a letter he’s written. He made it sound urgent and asked that I take care it gets to Denerim as soon as possible. A second letter, with the same content, will go straight to Amaranthine.”

Fenris frowned. “Denerim and Amaranthine? Who is he trying to contact?”

Varric shrugged. “I didn’t ask and it’s not my business, either. And I don’t have to explain to you how hard Anders is to resist when he’s doing the puppy eyes and says pleaaaaaaase.”

The elf rolled his eyes and continued to walk, brushing past Varric and the dirty grin on the dwarf’s face.

“Does he beg prettily, Broody?” Varric asked cheerfully, now being the one trotting after the elf instead.

“Pardon?”

“In bed.”

Fenris growled. “I will not talk about such things to you. I know where that’ll end and I will not add to your distasteful stories.”

“Awww, you wound me, Fenris. I have you know my distasteful stories are quite popular among Kirkwall and beyond!”

“Because they are read by nasty people,” Fenris grunted out. “Speaking of which, you don’t honestly want to tell me you didn’t read Anders’ letters after he dropped them off, right?”

“Now, now, I would not abuse Blondie’s trust like that!”

“You would and we both know it, Tethras!” Fenris spun around, fixing Varric with a glare. “Whom is he writing to?”

Varric rolled his eyes and sped up his steps, brushing past Fenris and down the stairs; the warehouses came into view. “The Warden Commander,” he eventually replied. “Blondie isn’t sure if he’s still in Amaranthine or back with the king in Denerim, though, so he’s making sure the letter reaches him one way or another.”

Fenris frowned, closing up to the dwarf. “Why would he contact the Warden Commander after deserting the Grey Wardens?” he asked.

“I don’t know, the letter revealed nothing but Anders asking him to come to Kirkwall, that he’s trusting on his secrecy and that he requires help.” Varric glanced at Fenris to his left. “Apparently, Blondie believes there’s something we can’t help him with.”

Fenris frown deepened. “Maybe it has to do with Justice?”

“We will find out soon enough.” Varric stopped in front of one of the numerous warehouses. “Wait here, Broody. I’ll be right back. The guy I am handing these letters to isn’t very fond of elves.”

 

Fenris was scowling by the time Varric returned to him, but said nothing as they made their way back to Hightown and toward the estate Varric had found out belonged to his brother. They all had a word or two to say to Bartrand, after he abandoned them in the Deep Roads out of greed.

Varric stayed silent until they took the lift to Hightown. Once they set foot on the now empty market, though, he cleared his throat pointedly.

“So. Have you talked to Blondie yet?”

Again, Fenris scowled. “I have been talking to him pretty much every day since he woke up, Varric. Is there a point to your question?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know that,” Varric said, smirking at the elf’s darkened features. “You two obviously need to talk, sooner or later, about whatever it is that’s going on between you.”

“Your _point_ , Varric?”

The dwarf sighed loudly. “Andraste, guide me, for this elf is an utter pain in the ass!”

Fenris glared.

“Does Blondie even know how you feel about him?”

“I don’t see how that matters in any way.”

“Fenris.”

The elf stopped walking, once again and snarled at the dwarf.

“I’m just saying Blondie seems to feel really comfortable around you, especially after what happened at his clinic. He’s been doing much better over the past few days and I dare say that’s mostly thanks to you. I know Hawke let something slip about that day at the cave and…”

“And Anders never asked about it,” Fenris interrupted. “If it’s of no interest to him, I don’t see why I should bring up the subject.”

“Ah.” Varric nodded thoughtfully.

“Can we stop talking now? We have to be somewhere and you know how impatient Hawke is.”

“Oh, I know. It’s the reason he stopped trying to teach you to read and write. You two are the most impatient people I know.”

Fenris growled loudly, his brands lighting up.

“Hey, hey…I am just saying as it is!” Varric said defensively, but he was smiling as he spoke.

“Where is that estate?” Fenris asked and stomped off, causing Varric to chuckle as he followed after the elf.

“Proving my point, Broody.”

 

When they finally reached the estate, Hawke and Isabela were already waiting for them.  
And – to their surprise - Anders.

Fenris froze. Varric almost walked right into him.

“You’re late,” Hawke noticed with a smile. “We almost went back home.”

“Blondie!” Varric exclaimed cheerfully. “What are you doing here?”

Anders shrugged and smiled. “Hawke said you’re paying Bartrand a visit. That bastard locked us up in the Deep Roads. I have my two cents to add to the more than overdue talk as well. Hey, Fenris.”

“Mage,” Fenris murmured. Anders looked better and better with each passing day. The mage had gained weight, had stopped being so worryingly pale and today, he was even wearing his staff, Fenris noticed. “Are you expecting trouble?” he asked, gesturing at the staff.

“Not technically, but Kirkwall is never safe at nights and Hawke insisted I take my staff with me if I insist I’m coming with. You guys can’t have all the fun without me anymore, I’m starting to feel left out.”

“Aww, Sweet Cheeks,” Isabela cooed, “if you’re looking for fun, you should come with me to the Rose later! We can find out if you can still do that wonderful little trick with your fing—“

“The mage is going nowhere with you,” Fenris growled.

Isabela chuckled dirtily while Anders blinked in surprise, then grinned.

“Why, Fenris, are you jealous?” the mage teased. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“Maybe we should save declarations of undying love for later, folks?” Varric suggested, nodding at the estate’s entrance. Fenris’ ears pinked at that and he quickly looked at the cobbled road beneath his bare feet.

“This house looks abandoned,” Hawke pointed out. “We’ve been here for a little while already and there wasn’t the slightest sound.”

Varric sighed and climbed up the stairs, pressing his ear against the solid door to listen for himself.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “My sources saw people making deliveries here just a week ago. This…” Varric shook his head, glancing around. “This looks like it’s been empty for months.”

Hawke shrugged. “This is still our best lead. We might find something that’ll take us to Bartrand.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Picking the lock was surprisingly easy.  
Within minutes, the group found themselves inside the estate. It looked as abandoned on the inside, save for a pile of corpses in the entrance hall. Isabela made a disgusted sound as she moved around them. 

Fenris immediately attached himself to Anders’ side, broadsword drawn and ready to strike.

Varric took a moment to inspect the dead bodies and shook his head. “These corpses aren’t even stiff yet, Hawke. Somebody’s been in here today.”

Fenris tensed. “You should leave,” he murmured to Anders.

“Why?”

“This place obviously isn’t safe.”

Anders offered an amused smile. “Were you expecting it to be?”

Fenris growled at him. “Mage, you were the one telling us you don’t have yourself under control yet. I will not have you being attacked and wounded, or worse. Not again.”

“Guess you’ll have to keep an eye on me then.”

Fenris’ features softened at the words. Anders trusted him; the look in the mage’s amber eyes told him as much.

“Are you able to defend yourself, if for whatever reason I cannot?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The elf nodded. “Alright then.”

Hawke chose that moment to push open the door to the adjoining room, only to be attacked immediately by cloaked men. Fenris instinctively pushed Anders’ back, his eyes telling the mage to stay where he was before rushing to aid Hawke. There was a crazed look in the attackers’ eyes that neither Fenris, nor Hawke liked in the slightest, yet the fact that whatever it was that had poisoned their minds made them unable to coordinate to their advantage enabled them to cut them down rather fast. 

“What in the Void!” Varric barked angrily. “Bartrand! Is that a way to greet your brother? Show your pathetic self!”

“What was wrong with them?” Isabela asked Hawke. “Did you see the look in their eyes?”

“I did but I can’t say I had the time to ask them about it,” the warrior quipped. There was a fine cut on his cheek where one of the attacker’s had managed to land a hit with a dagger. He made a face at the blood trickling into his beard.

“I’m more worried about how many more of them are in this place,” Fenris snarled before whipping his head around, his gaze searching. “Mage?”

“Right here,” Anders replied from behind the elf. “And unharmed.” He stepped toward Hawke and touched his fingertips to the warrior’s injured cheek. “Let me take a look at that.”

“Don’t burn off my face or anything,” Hawke teased.

Anders pouted at the man, eyes narrowed. “I might just do that, for the insult.”

“I’d never insult you.”

“Hold still.”

A familiar green glow appeared at the mage’s fingertips. Fenris watched with interest as the mage’s healing magic closed the wound within seconds. Anders smiled and the relief was clearly visible on his face. “Not too strong, I hope?”

“Perfect as always,” Hawke said, offering Anders a toothy grin. “Thank you!”

“Let’s go on then. We have a dwarf to find,” Anders said with a chuckle.

“Stay behind me, mage,” Fenris ordered as they continued their way.

“Fenris, I can watch out for myself,” Anders argued gently. “There’s no need to—“

“Fasta vass!” the elf exclaimed, causing Hawke to jump and Varric to tell him to keep his voice down.

Anders stared, wide-eyed, as Fenris glowered at him. “Magus fatuus,” Fenris muttered, “quare ergo non videre?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “See what?”

Fenris froze.

“What, you haven’t figured out yet that I do understand Tevene?” 

“WATCH OUT!” Varric suddenly yelled. Arrows rained down on them, only barely missing Fenris’ shoulder, one shooting past Anders’ cheek, grazing the skin there. A door burst open and screaming was heard.

“Get out of here!” Fenris yelled at Anders before he was forced to turn around, finding three, once again cloaked, men jumping at him simultaneously. A quick look around told him the room was literally swarmed by enemies. With a shout, Fenris cut the three men down at once, his brands activating and allowing him to move quickly and without hindrance, aiding Hawke and Isabela against their attackers. Varric had found a decent spot from where he could make good use of Bianca, taking down man after man.

There seemed to be no end. For each man they took down, two more entered, some better equipped and better armed, proving far harder to take down. Hawke managed to cut a path through them, only to be met with yet another two dozen when he entered the main hall of the estate.

“What in the Void is going on here?” Fenris heard Varric shout angrily.

Anders.  
Fenris looked around hastily, lowering his guard for a moment. He couldn’t see Anders anywhere and with relief, he told himself the mage had listened and left.

Something hard and solid suddenly hit him against the right side of his head, sending him to the floor with a scream. The pain was excruciating and Fenris wondered if his skull was cracked. He tried to see who or what had attacked him, but his vision was blurry.

“Broody is down!” Varric shouted. One of Bianca’s arrows shot past Fenris, taking down something that looked like nothing more than a huge, black shadow.

Something changed in the atmosphere of the room; subtly, at first, but Fenris could feel it still, his skin tingling with the sensation, causing his brands to pulse and flare.

Magic.

It waved through the building; the throbbing in his head increased and Fenris groaned, clutching at it as he curled up in a fetal position. 

“This ends _now_.”

Fenris didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded furious, cold and deadly. He risked a careful glance around, his vision still impaired. A blue glow caught his attention, though it was too far away to be able to make out what it was exactly.

The room went icy cold and dark; Winter’s Grasp. Fenris recognized the spell immediately, though it was far stronger from what he’d experienced in his past. Time stopped around him, it seemed, as one opponent after the other froze in their movements; clanking sounds told Fenris that his companions seized the opportunity to strike them down, one after the other, spirit bolds and Arcane spells joining them regularly. There was something else beneath it all, something Fenris was familiar with but hadn’t felt in a very long time. Healing magic coursed through him like a storm, almost uncomfortable but the pounding in his head seized, his vision clearing and sharpening once again.

Fenris immediately leaped to his feet and found himself faced with Anders. Cracks of blue splitting apart the mage’s skin, his eyes cold and fierce as he took down the remaining opponents surrounding them, his staff whirling fast and aiming with precision, before concentrating on Fenris.

_Vengeance. Wrath._

The man before him was not Anders, but he wasn’t Justice either. Still, there was an incredible fury in the mage’s aura that made his blood run cold.

Winter’s Grasp subsided and Hawke and Isabela joined them, out of breath and covered in blood and gore. Isabela stared at Anders, who was taking a few deep breaths, the hand holding his staff trembling as he supported himself on it. The blue cracks faded, leaving the mage slightly breathless, his face now contorted in pain.

“Anders?” Hawke carefully placed a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “Hey. You alright?”

Anders exhaled shakily, his back straightening. “I am now.”

“What in the Void was _that_?” Varric asked, brows furrowed.

“That is what happened at the clinic the other day. I don’t know what exactly it is, though.”

“ _That_ was _Vengeance_ ,” Fenris growled. “I recognize the magic your spirit added to your repertoire. How is that _possible_?”

Anders blinked slowly, seemingly taken aback by Fenris’ anger directed at him. His face fell. “I’ve told you…I am…” He shook his head. 

“Not now, Fenris,” Varric chided. “We have worse things to worry about.”

Fenris continued to stare at the lost-looking mage while Varric pushed Isabela and Hawke on; to find Bartrand, he told them, but the elf knew Varric was merely giving the two of them some space.

“Does it…still control you?” Fenris asked.

“No. I control it. Well, mostly. Not so much when I nearly destroyed the clinic.” Anders smiled sheepishly.

“I remember telling you to leave and get yourself into safety.” Fenris was calmer now.

“And I heard Varric yelling something about you being down and I just…” 

“You just what?”

“I just had to protect you.”

Fenris’ eyes widened at the mage in surprise. “Protect me?”

Anders shrugged. “I heard Varric’s shout and just turned around. I couldn’t have left even if I had wanted to, which I didn’t, by the way. Call it a new…trait of mine. I’ve had it since waking up after the cave incident.”

“The – need to protect me?”

“Yes.”

Fenris was lost for words. Anders was uncomfortable under the elf’s gaze, shifting from one feet to another.

“Why?” Fenris eventually asked.

“Why did you cry when I died?”

And there it was. The timing couldn’t have been more inappropriate but Fenris figured there would never be a good time to discuss this matter.

“Ego erat pavidus”, Fenris murmured.

“Of what?”

“I – I almost lost you.”

He could hear Anders inhale sharply and cursed himself immediately for saying it. This was neither the time, nor the place, to discuss matters that Fenris usually liked to ignore, for various reasons.

“That’s it,” Anders whispered eventually whispered. A look of confusion crossed over his features. “I was afraid.” He seemed a little absent now and Fenris wondered if Anders was still talking about their current situation or something else entirely.

“Fenris? Anders?” Hawke called from somewhere.

“Let’s go,” Fenris murmured, placing a comforting hand on the small of Anders’ back. The gesture had Anders pleasantly surprised and he let himself be gently pushed on.

 

They found the rest of their companions at the top of a broad staircase leading to the second floor and, what Fenris guessed, would be the master room of the estate. The door was tightly looked and by the look of Varric’s face, the lock not as easily picked as he would have liked to.

“Any sign of Bartrand yet?” Anders asked, still by Fenris’ side, still with the elf’s hand resting on his back.

Hawke shook his head, his face grim. Isabela was busy trying to clean her blood-soaked boots and complaining about them being ruined.

“Nug shit,” Varric growled at the refusing lock. “My brother was thorough it would seem.”

A shadow caught their attention; everyone immediately reached for their weapon, ready to strike but it was a dwarf emerging from the shadows, looking at them with pleading nice. Not Bartrand, though.

“Varric? Is that you? Praise the ancestors!” he exclaimed as he moved toward the group. He was shaven, much like Varric. Anders figured their dwarf wasn’t the only one who liked to do away with the dwarfen-typical beard.

Hawke took a step toward the stranger, but Varric stopped him.

“Hold up. I know this man,” Varric said calmly. “He’s Bartrand’s steward.” Then he returned his attention to the other dwarf. “Hugin? What happened here?” 

The steward gave a sad sigh, the expression on his face speaking of distress and sadness. “Varric…your brother…that…statue he brought out of the Deep Roads. Bartrand said it sang to him. Even after he sold it.”

Hawke’s brows furrowed and he exchanged a look with Anders, who shrugged at him.

“I’ve been hiding in here,” Hugin explained. “But the guards…they are like crazed animals…”

Isabela snorted at that, casting a glance at her dirty boots. “He can say that again,” she muttered. Anders offered her a sympathetic smile; Fenris’ hand still resting on the small of his back made him feel at ease.

“I didn’t dare go past them. Everyone in this house has gone mad!” Hugin exclaimed, gesturing wildly.

“Everything will be alright,” Hawke said soothingly. “You’re safe now.”

Hugin sighed. “I wish I believed that, human. Bartrand took the servants and locked himself inside the study. No one’s come out for days.”

Varric looked positively horrified by now and Fenris could practically see all the terrible thoughts crossing the dwarf’s mind, concerned for his brother whereas he’d only been furious before.

“And those sodding lunatics just keep prowling the halls,” Hugin added.

“He can say that again, too,” Isabela remarked. “I’ll never get those boots clean.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” Hawke offered with a smirk.

“Those are special, Garrett!”

Varric sighed and shook his head. “Then we’ll go after him,” the dwarf decided, before glancing up to Hawke, slightly desperate. “Come on, Hawke. Let’s finish this.”

Hawke nodded, then pointed his thumb at one of the locked doors down the corridor. “This one?” he asked Hugin. The steward nodded, then took a couple steps back.

Anders’ tightened his hold on his stuff, whirling it around a bit and nodded – whether to himself or his companions for encouragement, Fenris couldn’t tell. “Alright then…open the door.”

“Mage,” Fenris said warningly while Hawke slowly made his way over to the door in question. “Don’t endager yourself.”

“I’m a big mage, Fenris,” Anders replied with a smirk. “I could handle myself downstairs, I can handle myself now. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“I thought you wanted me to keep an eye on _you_ ,” Fenris asked around a light smile. He looked and sounded almost playful.

“And then you go and get floored.”

Hawke chuckled quietly and threw the two of them an amused glance, then nodded at Anders. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Calling on his berserk abilities, Hawke kicked the locked door down, then jumped aside quickly. A group of crazed guards emerged from the study immediately, only to be hit by a rather strong barrier Anders cast quickly, then a Mind Blast for good measure, effectively knocking them off their feet and leaving them disoriented. Fenris rushed past his companions, taking care of the confused guards with three strikes. 

“That was too easy,” the elf stated when he found nothing else in the room. When he stepped back out, though, there was no sign of Hugin, either. “Fasta vass,” he cursed under his breath.

A split second and Fenris found himself being tugged down Varric, an arrow narrowly missing his eye. Surprised, Fenris blinked at the dwarf.

“Watch it, Broody,” Varric admonished with a smile. “I’d hate to see Blondie cry.”

Fenris scowled at him; from the corner of his eyes, he saw Hawke and Isabela moving quickly to fight down more guards leaping up the stairs, accompanied by a few strong fireballs that told him the mage was fine. Next, he saw a sharp blade aiming right at Varric and quickly pushed the dwarf away from him. Surprised, the other stumbled backwards, eyes on the blade thrusting right between them, cutting the air, before being paraded by another blade that was attached to the end of a familiar staff.

“Game over,” Fenris heard Anders say before disarming their attacker and knocking him off his feet with a quick whirl and well-aimed hit of his staff.

Varric, having recovered, leapt back on his feet and towered over the hunched figure on the floor.

“Bartrand,” he growled warningly while Hawke and Isabela joined them again.

Bartrand whimpered, curling into a fetal position on the floor and offering them a pitiful look. “I can’t…I can’t hear it anymore…” he whispered. “I just need to hear the song again…just for a minute…”

“He looks bad off,” Hawke noticed.

Bartrand froze, the whimpering stopped. When he spoke next, he sounded angry. “Stop saying that!” he hissed at no one in particular. “I know I shouldn’t have sold the idol to that woman! It was a mistake. A mistake!”

Varric reached down, grabbing his brother by the collar and pulling him back on his feet. “Bartrand,” he barked at him. “Get a hold of yourself! Do you know where you are? Do you know what you have done?”

“Varric! You’ll help me, won’t you, little brother?” Bartrand pleaded. “Help me find it again? You were always the good one.”

“Someone lost his marbles,” Isabela sing-sang. Fenris offered her a glare in response.

“Help you?” Varric snorted. “Bartrand, you left me to die! You left all your men to die! And for what? Some trinket?”

Varric looked disgusted when he turned his back to his older brother, staring ahead and trying to collect himself so he wouldn’t lose his cool completely. “Look at yourself!” he berated his sibling. “Look at what you’ve done to the men and women who served you! Where’s your nobility, brother? Where’s your dwarven honor?” He spun around, spitting the last sentence right into his brother’s face.

Hawke sighed. “Anders? Can you do something?” he asked the mage. “I sincerely doubt Bartrand has any idea at all about what’s going on.”

“Sounds like my cue!” Anders said cheerfully. He carefully took a few step toward Bartrand, then cast a quick, searching spell through the dwarf’s body. Bartrand didn’t even blink. 

Anders’ brows furrowed at the response his spell gave him. “This…doesn’t feel natural…” he murmured. “If he wasn’t a dwarf, I’d think a demon did this. His mind has been…poisoned, by something powerful.” He pondered for a moment, then did a quick gesture with his left, casting another spell at Bartrand that had the dwarf sink to the ground with a sigh, eyes closing. “That’s all I can do right now,” he said. “It won’t last. I’m sorry.” He threw an apologetic look at Varric.

“You did what you could, Blondie. I am grateful for that,” Varric assured.

“What are we gonna do with him?” Hawke asked gently. “Put him out of his misery?”

Varric turned white as a sheet at that.

“I wouldn’t have thought you to be the one to suggest to kill a mentally ill person,” Fenris growled at Hawke. Hawke looked away, ashamed.

“I was so angry,” Varric muttered. “Actually ready to slit my own brother’s throat but this…” He gestured around the dark, run-down estate. “This was not what I had expected. I had expected him to be gloating, sleeping on bags filled with gold, but this…” He threw a hopeful look at Anders. “Will he ever be normal again? Can you do _anything_ , Blondie?”

“I don’t think so, Varric,” Anders said sincerely. “Not to say that I won’t try, for you, but his mind is…” He shrugged. “We can try to take him to my clinic and I’ll see if I can find anything in my books, but I’m not making any promises.”

Varric hummed, gaze fixed on his brother once again. “And I cannot promise he won’t cause any of you any more harm than he already has,” he murmured. “Or the entirety of Kirkwall, for that matter.”

“Well, how do we get your brother away from here and to Darktown?” Isabela spoke up. “He doesn’t exactly look like a light weight.”

“We’re not taking him anywhere,” Varric said. He glanced up to Anders yet again. “Will he feel anything, while he’s like this?”

Anders’ eyes saddened when Varric’s shoulders slumped in defeat and slowly, he shook his head. “No. I promise he won’t.”

“Then I’d like to ask you, my friends, to leave Bartrand and me alone for a moment. Please.”

 

~*~

They had decided to wait outside for Varric. Fenris welcomed the cold night air and filled his lungs with it.

“I so need a bath,” Isabela muttered. “I’m covered in filth from head to toe.”

“I think we all do,” Anders said with a tired smile. 

Hawke remained closest by the front door, glancing back worriedly. “Will he be alright?” he murmured.

“You can never be alright, killing someone you love, even if you have to, to put them out of their misery, Hawke,” Anders told the warrior quietly. “You know that as well as I do.”

Fenris remained silent. He had no experience on the matter, unlike Anders with Karl and Hawke handing his own mother a dagger so she could end her cursed existence after being kidnapped by an obviously deluded blood mage. He’d only just met them, a handful days after Anders had killed his former lover to free him; the mage had still been openly mourning then. Not that Fenris had exactly cared. Varric had told him the story while they had been on their way to the Deep Roads and Fenris thought it important to know a thing or two about his newfound companions.

Despite his growing feelings for the mage, Fenris had always vowed he’d kill him at the first sign of Justice having taken over completely and the mage becoming a danger to everyone. But a not so small part of him was never sure if he would actually be able to go through with it.

“Does anyone require healing?” Anders asked after a moment of silence. He looked exhausted; he hadn’t been casting so many spells in an hour since before the cave-in and despite Justice no longer being a part of him – at least, not an active one – he had to learn to control his powers while slowly learning whatever it was that had changed. Fenris found himself admiring the mage while being concerned for him. He knew what he’d seen and felt earlier. Anders had channeled his inner demon and taken control of it, in some way, often enough in the past, drawing power from vengeance to protect them all and Vengeance was extremely powerful. He had hoped it would be gone with the Fade spirit.

What other surprises would await them in the future? Was this the reason why Anders had send for the Warden Commander? Would the mage be in danger if the Warden Commander indeed came to see him, a renegade Grey Warden?

Isabela and Hawke shook their heads.

“Just a bath,” the pirate said tiredly. Hawke remained silent, waiting for Varric to join them.

“You need to rest,” Fenris told the mage.

“So I do,” Anders agreed. “But we’re not leaving here without Varric.”

 

As if on cue, the dwarf emerged from the estate, eyes downcast, wiping a small dagger on his sleeve. Hawke grasped the dwarf’s shoulder and squeezed as Varric heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head.

“Not how I had planned tonight to go,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, Varric,” Anders said quietly. “I wish I could have healed him.”

“So do I, but you can only make so many miracles happen in a week, Blondie. I know you would have done everything you could if you had seen even the slightest chance.” Varric offered the mage a tired smile. “Why don’t you guys go home? I think I need to be alone for a little while…and get drunk.”

“Are you sure?” Hawke asked. Isabela offered a doubtful glance at their dwarven companion. Despite what the pirate claimed, she proved again and again that there was a heart of gold beating in her chest.

“As sure as I can be, Hawke. Thank you all for your help. You’ve been risking your life for me in there today. I can’t and will not ask for more. I just…”

“You need to mourn,” Anders said with a nod. “And we will leave you to it.”

 

Slowly, the four of them made their way back to their respective homes. Fenris watched Isabela glancing back across their shoulder, taking in Varric’s hunched form as the dwarf lurked in the shadow of the estate.

“Should we really leave him behind?” she wondered aloud.

“Varric would go mad if we fussed over him,” Hawke said tiredly. “If he wants to be alone, we should accept that. As Anders said, he needs time to mourn.”

“And you did complain about needing a bath, pirate,” Fenris pointed out, though his voice completely lacked the usual snark. “We’re disgusting right now.”

“I don’t think Varric expected so much trouble,” Hawke pointed out. 

“So glad I listened to you about taking my staff with me,” Anders muttered. “Although channeling my powers with it is quite some hard work.”

“Will you be okay after a good night’s sleep?” 

“I think so. As exhausting as it was, it also…felt good.”

Hawke chuckled at that, an understanding look in his eyes.

“Of course, Fenris disagrees and would rather I had stayed home,” Anders went on, a teasing smirk on his face.

“ _Fenris_ is simply concerned that you exhaust yourself while you are still recovering,” the elf grunted out.

“I’m fine,” Anders argued.

“Physically? Yes.”

The mage fell silent at that.

Soon, they reached the crossroad where Hawke and Fenris had to part way to reach each their homes. Isabela waved at them tiredly as she marched off into the darkness to get back to the Rose, completely ignoring Hawke insisting he’d accompany her to make sure she got back to her quarters safe and sound.

With a sigh, he eventually bid her goodnight, then turned to look at Anders expectantly. “Shall we?” he asked. “I think I could use a bath myself.”

“Race you to it?” Anders challenged with a grin.

Fenris awkwardly cleared his throat.

Hawke lifted an eyebrow at the elf shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “Wanna come with, Fenris? The estate is big enough for all of us, if you don’t feel like being alone tonight.”

Fenris frowned. “That is not – I was…I would ask the mage to stay with me tonight.”

Hawke’s eyebrow rose impossibly higher. “Oh?”

“At your mansion?” Anders asked.

“Yes.” Fenris frowned. Where else?

“That rat hole that you refuse to clean out, the entrance hall still littered with decaying corpses?”

Fenris’ frown deepened.

“Sounds romantic,” Hawke joked lightly. “What more can you ask for, Anders?”

The elf wanted to snarl at Hawke for making fun of him and therefore convince Anders of the complete opposite, but paused when he caught his friend giving the mage a meaningful look.

“Indeed,” Anders replied, letting the word roll off his tongue in uncertainty. “I shall, uhm…go with the grumpy elf then?”

Hawke chuckled, gifting the two men with a fond smile. “Good night, Anders and Fenris. We should meet up tomorrow at noon and check on Varric, yes?”

“See you at the Hanged Man,” Fenris confirmed with a nod. “Good night, Hawke.”

Still smiling, Hawke turned around and slowly walked toward his estate, leaving Anders and Fenris at the crossroad, staring after him until he disappeared into the shadows.

“Mage.”

Anders glanced at Fenris.

“Let’s go get cleaned up and sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Magus fatuus – Silly mage  
> Quare ergo non videre? – Why will you not see?  
> Ego erat pavidus – I was afraid


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris, a run-down mansion, pieces of Anders' scattered mind slowly clicking into place and revelations leading to the possible fulfillment of at least one heart's desire.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: sexual content ahead.  
> Warning No. 2 - it's a pretty long chapter. Again.  
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos! :)
> 
> Also, Mael Tabris was my (first, customized) City Elf Male Warden that I played through the entire game of DAO (and he's the only one who 'met' Anders so far lol). He will play a role later, as the updated tags may have already revealed :)

The memories returned, the moment Anders crossed the threshold to Fenris’ run-down mansion. Bittersweet memories of the days he’d come here, on Hawke’s insistence, to check on Fenris if the elf had been injured during a fight but too stubborn to even utter a syllable about it, or to make sure he hadn’t died of alcohol poisoning yet; sometimes, to pick up the elf when they were headed someplace.

Of the nights he’d stolen his way in here, seeking out Fenris for some mutual relief, to forget about Justice, the things they still had to take care of, the taint, his shortened life, the plight of mages, to sate his body’s desires. Leaving at the crack of dawn, so they wouldn’t have to face morning together, avoiding that kind of intimacy like the plague.

Yet when he’d entered the place he hadn’t seen in weeks, Anders immediately remembered his way around; remembered where to place steps carefully, when to avoid stumbling over rotting bodies and growing mushrooms, where the closed doors led; where to find the single room Fenris vacated and where he kept his very few belongings. Still living like a ghost, a shadow, refusing to make a claim on anything, to become part of Kirkwall’s society.

“A free man shouldn’t be living like that,” Anders murmured, eyes slowly getting used to the semi dark of the entrance hall. “I don’t get why you keep doing this to yourself.”

Fenris paused behind him, taken aback by the unexpected statement.

“And what do you suppose I should do?” he asked, eventually.

“Clean up. Let Varric help you gaining ownership of this mansion. Make the place habitable, fill it with memories and small luxuries. Invite friends over for card games at night. And Maker be damned but you really could use more light in here.” Anders gestured around. “Instead, you hole up like some wounded animal, expecting to be striked down any moment. Your pursuers are dead. No one in Tevinter has any business seeking you out and dragging you back to slavery. How can you _live_ like this? And where do you suppose am I going to sleep tonight?”

Now Fenris looked positively embarrassed by the state of the mansion he called his “home” – he could see that the uncomfortable look on his face made Anders feel guilty.

“I am sorry,” the mage murmured. “I just…I always wondered. I know I am not one to talk, seeing where I live and run my clinic, but even that little hole I call my own is better than living on a veritable graveyard.”

“I never had a need to…call a habitable place my own, or spoil myself with unnecessary luxuries,” Fenris muttered, still embarrassed. The tips of his pointed ears burned hotly.

“What do you do with all the coin you get by helping Hawke or Aveline?”

“I buy what is necessary…which means food. Sometimes bandages to treat injuries. I don’t have to ask what you do with _your_ coin, mage and I am not sure if your giving it away to the sick and poor is that much better than me making no use of it at all.”

Anders’ brows furrowed. “Of course it is. It helps keeping people alive.”

“What about you?” Fenris asked.

 _What about me indeed_ , Anders thought. With Justice, he’d felt his body waste away from being malnourished; he was sure it was mostly due to his taint – and Justice - that it hadn’t just given up over the years. The taint strenghtened a person in various different ways. ‘Warden stamina’, it was called – enabling them to even get up after a particularly bad injury that knocked them off their feet; to keep going, more dead than alive; increasing their appetite, something Justice had somehow managed to keep in check while Anders had still been his host. Lately, he’d found himself eating a lot, probably more within the last week than he had in past years if one counted the times he’d eaten.

And oh, his stamina in bed. Anders had had the time of his life, when he was young, had only just become a Warden and the time to experience it to the fullest. Between that glorious time and today, the only partner he’d been with was Fenris and his exhausted body had made it clear that once a night was more than enough. Anders could remember, though, how one time, or even two or three, used to be not enough in the past.

“He ruined me,” Anders murmured.

“Justice?”

The mage nodded. “I never was fully aware of it, but the past few days…” He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “I…have given up a lot, joining with him. That’s not who I am – or, at least, who I used to be.”

“Is that regret I hear, mage?” Fenris offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“I don’t know if I regret the decisions I made in general or merely their outcome, Fenris.” Anders looked tired again. “Or if I am able to feel regret at all. Don’t go there, just yet.”

Fenris decided to leave it at that and instead motioned for Anders to follow him upstairs. They crossed his sparsely furnished room, only stopping long enough for Fenris to stoke the fire before entering the adjoining room. Anders had always been aware of that door, he just never knew what lay beyond it.

The bath he found himself in a moment later was – not what he’d expected. Clean, tidy, huge – it had dwarven plumbing. Typically Tevinter, Anders thought to himself, always extravagant and pompous. At least, that’s the stories he’d heard in his youth. He had often wondered if every magister lived in a veritable palace. Danarius, apparently, used to, whenever he was in Kirkwall.

“Were you here with him often?” Anders asked as he watched Fenris getting the water running and looking for towels. He slowly at down on the edge of the tub.

“A few times, whenever he had business to attend to in Kirkwall,” Fenris replied quietly. 

“What kind of business?”

“You saw the slaver hideouts on the Wounded Coast.”

“Oh.” Anders stared at his feet. “Right. I remember you saying you knew these places.” Fenris gave a non-committal grunt. “Mael once mentioned how they caught a slaver, a Tevinter mage, at the Alienage in Denerim. He had come up with a…remarkably witty plan to kidnap the elves there without anyone noticing.”

“Mael?” Fenris asked as he piled up a few towels on a stool next to the large tub.

“Mael Tabris. The Hero of Ferelden.”

Fenris paused, the question about Anders’ letters to the Warden Commander on the tip of his tongue. “You were friends?” he asked instead.

“He’s a great guy. Saved my life by conscripting me. So, yes. We are… _were_ friends.” Anders dipped a hand into the cold water that filled the tub. “Can I heat it?” he asked.

Fenris nodded, stepping away from Anders and the tub to escape the pull of magic on his brands. “What happened to that slaver?”

“Mael ended his sorry existence and freed the elves. I sometimes wonder, if that’s where Danarius found you in the first place, you know. Denerim. Before Mael had the chance to put a stop to it.”

“When I woke up, after the ritual…” Fenris gestured down his body, “Danarius spoke to me in Tevene. I understood him. I must have been in Tevinter before that happened. I remember that my mother was a slave already when I was still young.”

Anders hummed in agreement, the water slowly heating up beneath his hand. When it was steaming, he pulled his hand away and instead removed his feather pauldron, then worked on loosening the ties of his shirt, all under Fenris’ watchful gaze.

“I shall leave you to it,” Fenris murmured, suddenly feeling uneasy.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, Fenris,” Anders teased with a small smile as he shrugged off his shirt, revealing pale, freckled skin and faded scars. “Unless you have to come to the conclusion you find me repulsive now…”

Pointed ears flushed red and Fenris grabbed the mage’s shirt. He filled a bucket next to the tub with water as well and tossed the shirt into it, adding soap to soak – and hopefully clean – the piece of clothing. “Fool mage,” he muttered under his breath.

Anders chuckled at that and pulled the tie out of his hair. “Do you have…”

Fenris wordlessly handed him a washcloth.

“Thank you.” Remaining seated on the edge of the tub, Anders wetted the cloth, then began to scrub dried blood off his upper body. Thankfully, his upper body, hands, face and hair were the only places that had gotten some on it. He ran it over his chest, then scrubbed his neck and cheeks, all under the watchful gaze of a pair of emerald eyes. Anders paused. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked.

“I – no. Why do you ask?”

“You’re not cleaning yourself up.”

Fenris grunted, then slowly began to get rid of his armor. Anders smiled and continued to clean himself while Fenris fought with his gauntles, then the breast plate. He left the bathroom briefly when he was down to his skin-tight leggings. Anders seized the opportunity and slid to his knees, leaned over the tub and down, until he could wet his hair. Some strands had ended up glued together by dried blood and he winced when he ran his fingers through them.

The padding of naked feet announced Fenris’ return. He brought what looked like a fine linen shirt, definitely oversized for the elf. “You’ll need something to sleep in,” Fenris said when he became aware of Anders’ questioning glance. “It…probably belonged to Danarius.”

Anders frowned, still fighting with his dirty hair. “And you want me to wear that?”

“It’s all I have that will fit you.”

Placing the shirt somewhere safe, Fenris reached out and pushed slender fingers through wet hair, lowering the mage’s head to soak them yet again. With his other, he reached for a bottle near the tub. Flowery scent filled the air between them, something cold and thick trickling on the mage’s scalp. Both hands then began to massage the substance into his hair. Shampoo. Anders smiled, eyes slipping closed.

“Orleasian?” he murmured.

“I don’t know. It was already here when I got here.”

“What does the text on the bottle say?”

“I don’t know.”

Anders frowned, then remembered Fenris still couldn’t read; Hawke had mentioned trying to teach the elf but they were both too stubborn and too impatient and Fenris got frustrated easily. It had ended with Fenris telling Hawke to just leave it be and while Hawke would have loved to teach Fenris, Anders knew, the warrior was also aware he lacked patience for a frustrated elf.

“Have you ever tried to continue your lessons?”

“On my own? I do not see how that would work.”

“What about Sebastian?” Anders opened one eye to glance at Fenris. The elf made a face at him. “What? He seems to be a rather patient man and you two get along just fine, don’t you?”

“He also has that pitying look on his face, whenever he glances at me,” Fenris pointed out.

“Ah yes…there’s that.”

“Close your eyes, mage.”

Anders did as he was told and let Fenris rinse his hair. He was surprised at how careful and even gentle the elf could be. He sure was used to a different kind of touch from him; not that Anders had complained about that in the past.  
Once Fenris was done, Anders smoothed his wet hair back, feeling it drip on his shoulders as he sat up again.

“Thank you.”

Another grunt, then Fenris took a seat on the edge of the tub and began to clean himself off as well. His movements seemed hurried; he only paused to wince slightly when he scrubbed over his face, removing the dried blood where he’d taken a blow to the head, only mere hours ago. Anders frowned.

“Did I not heal it right?” he asked, concerned.

“It’s sensitive, but I don’t think there’s any remaining damage,” Fenris said quietly. “Felt like he cracked my skull open…stultus spurius…”

“I doubt it only felt like that,” Anders muttered.

“Hum.”

Fenris washed his own hair quickly. The side of his face indeed still felt sensitive, but it seemed more like memory than actual pain. Still, Anders watched him attentively, a frown still on his face. Fenris sighed loudly.

“You healed it just fine, mage. It will feel better in the morning. Do not concern yourself.”

“I am a healer, Fenris. I hate thinking I have done a poor job.” The frown deepend. “It’s bad enough I could do nothing for Varric’s brother, I don’t want to think I’ve lost my touch when it comes to healing in general.”

“You did not. You forget that I react differently to any magic used on me, thanks to what Danarius gifted me with.”

“They didn’t start to hurt again, I hope?”

Fenris smiled. “No. They have not been bothering me since…that day.”

Anders seemed to relax at that and Fenris found the mage smiling back at him.

 

A couple moments later found Anders on Fenris’ narrow bed, wearing the shirt the elf had been given him. It was too big for him as well but suitable enough to sleep in. His boots and pants were gone and he wiggled his toes, fingertips feeling over the shirt’s fabrics. It was expensive, probably even hand-made. Fenris had given him a strange look after Anders had slipped into it and the mage felt uncomfortable wearing something that once belonged to the elf’s former master.

Fenris had gone off in search for some food and returned with some bread and two apples. Anders looked up from his wiggling toes when the elf returned, still only dressed in his leggings, taking in the sight of tanned skin and obscenely beautiful lyrium swirls. Anders had never taken a moment to take in Fenris’ appearance and realized that, in the past, they had never bothered taking off more clothes than necessary. Usually, they had just unlaced and pushed down pants; it had been seldom that a hand strayed beneath a shirt or armor to caress over bare skin. They had no need for it, Anders figured. Now he found himself wondering if he should add that to the list of his regrets, should that emotion ever return.

He didn’t feel quite as disconnected anymore but very often, Anders found himself unable to properly respond to certain situations emotionally; numbness usually settled in instead. Sometimes, emptiness. Uncertainty. It made him wonder just how much influence Justice had had on him without Anders realizing it – and what Justice had left behind, inside him. If Fenris had indeed recognized what he’d done earlier as Vengeance, did that mean Justice wasn’t really gone but somehow had been quietened? And if he was gone for good, what happened to him?

It was yet the biggest gap in his memory; Anders had a distinct feeling it was somehow connected to Fenris. The anger he’d felt in his clinic, when Justice wouldn’t respond to him – he always felt it, at the same time his inexplainable need to protect Fenris arose. He’d felt it earlier, when he became aware of Fenris being in danger. It had taken over, not berefting him of control, but it had been the main drive that made him spin around without thinking twice, calling upon his magic with the distinct knowledge he would not stop until the elf was safely by his side again.

Fenris sat down next to him, handing Anders an apple and a slice of bread. The mage took them, not feeling particularly hungry after the evening’s events and the pang of sadness he still felt over Varric’s loss – yet another emotion now slowly returning to him – but ate anyway. He was aware of Fenris watching him closely as he lost himself in his thoughts and effort to find the answers he was still missing.

“You said you were scared when I was dying,” Anders eventually spoke up. Fenris froze next to him. “Earlier, at Bartrand’s estate, when I asked why you had cried.”

“Yes.” Simple. Typically Fenris.

“Why were you scared?” Amber eyes fixed their gaze on Fenris’ face. “What had you so scared that it…actually made you cry?”

“I told you.” Fenris bit into his apple.

“You said you almost lost me, yes.”

Fenris chewed slowly.

“What I don’t understand is why that scared you so much. I mean…in order to lose me, you would have needed to _have_ me first.”

Fenris swallowed audibly – and obviously harder than he’d meant to, judging by the wince, but Anders had caught him by surprise.

“My memories might still be missing partly or are all over the place, but…you and I, we weren’t…” Anders paused. “Actually, I am not sure what we were, exactly. You know, apart from…”

“Fucking?”

A chuckle escaped Anders before he could stop himself. Fenris glanced at him. “I am sorry,” Anders said with a smile. “It’s just, you’re usually the one not so plain and crude in your wording.”

“It only shows how bad of an influence you are, mage.”

“Oh sure, go and blame me for it.” Ander sighed. “Alright. I get it, you don’t want to talk about is, as usual.”

Fenris paused, apple against his lips and tore his gaze away from the man beside him.

“Or maybe there just isn’t anything to talk about,” the mage went on. “You were locked in, just like me, and we both don’t like confined, dark spaces. It was a stressing situation, no one fancies having someone else with them that’s dying. Even you are not immune against trauma.”

“Is that your explanation, healer?” Fenris asked quietly. “Trauma?”

“It makes sense.” Anders shrugged. “Hawke told you not to let me die and I know you hate failing him. Sorry for the inconvenience I caused. I promise, I hadn’t meant to die. Maker’s breath, I can sure think of more pleasant things than feeling my organs fail and suffocate on my own blood.”

Fenris seemed to think about that for a moment while slowly lowering his hand, having lost interest in the apple.

The elf inhaled deeply. “You were hurt because you saved me. You pushed me out of the way, didn’t you?”

“Everything happened so fast,” Anders murmured. “I – yes, I believe I saw the boulder fall and…pushed you.”

“Why?”

“Instinct?” The mage shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Things would have gone differently if you hadn’t been the one injured,” Fenris pointed out. “You could have regained some mana and healed me, or at least the worst of my injuries, and keep me alive long enough for our friends to get us out.”

“It could have also killed you right away, Fenris,” Anders objected. “And I can’t bring someone back from the dead unless I use blood magic and that’s something I won’t do. Ever.” He frowned. “And before you say anything, yes, I am aware that a blood mage saved my life and I am grateful for all that Merrill has done. I’m…just saying. Not to mention I am not experienced enough with blood magic to know how to revive someone.”

“You’re babbling again.”

“I’ll shut up then.”

“I didn’t mean to –“ Fenris sighed, shoulder slumping. Anders looked at him curiously. “For as long as we’ve known each other, I have never given you any reason to do something for me. You don’t owe my anything and I owe you twice by now. You took the pain away that had bothered me for years, just because you could and even then, you did it while I was being anything but kind to you. Now you have probably saved my life and almost lost yours in return.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Fenris. And even if that were the case, you paid me back tenfold already.”

“How?”

Anders gave a half smile. “I always imagined the day I die, I’d be alone. Whether because I let Justice take control and have someone stop me before something terrible happens, or because of the Calling that will see me in the Deep Roads again, as is tradition for Grey Wardens. I would have been alone.” Slender hands toyed with the apple Fenris had given him. “Instead, when the moment came…you were there. And I was grateful for that. Knowing I wasn’t alone, like I had feared I would be. If Merrill hadn’t managed to bring me back, however she did that, it would have been alright. I felt…peaceful.” He could feel tears burning in his eyes and blinked, twice. “I hate being alone,” he admitted in a whisper. “I think deep down, I envy you for not giving a damn about being alone, as long as you are free. I am greedy. I want both…freedom and someone to share it with.”

“Non solus es,” Fenris let him know. “You have companions. Friends that care for you, mage. If there is one thing you can trust in, it’s that Hawke would never let you down, or Varric, for that matter.”

Anders chuckled softly. “That’s…not really what I meant, Fenris, but thank you for saying that. It’s nice, the two of us talking instead of snarling at each other. How long will it last, what do you think?”

An undefinable expression crossed the elf’s features; Anders would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking at him. Fenris was debating with himself, clutching the half-eaten apple hard enough Anders wouldn’t be surprised if the elf ended up crushing it in his fist. Eventually, that hand relaxed, a look of determination on Fenris’ face now.

“When we first met,” the elf spoke up, “it is true that I took an instant dislike to you for…what you are, which I would believe is understandable given my history.”

“Of course,” Anders murmured.

“Be quiet, mage.”

“Sorry.”

“What led me to snap at you, at the end of that night, wasn’t the fact that you were a mage, too powerful for me to feel comfortable in your presence. What made me angry was the thought that no mage has the right to be so beautiful that I can barely take my eyes off him. It was infuriating, finding myself looking at you when you wouldn’t notice or enjoying the sound of your voice whenever you spoke. You are a _mage_ and I refused to be drawn to you in any way after just escaping another.”

Amber eyes widened slightly. Fenris kept his gaze on the floor – one look at Anders, he knew, and he wouldn’t be able to continue.

“I was determined to believe that everything I experienced when it comes to mages tells everything I need to know of their nature. I have never met someone like you. I was distrustful and refused to believe you are any different from those Tevinter bastards. And you, you were…” Fenris growled. “Kind. Generous. Selfless. You never looked down on me. You treated me like an equal. And when I realized I would actually be willing to trust you, as far as I can, it made me even more angry. I refused to believe you are…”

“Kind, generous and selfless?” Anders offered. “Were you expecting me to plot a scheme, pretending to be someone I am not?”

“Did I not tell you to be quiet, mage?” Fenris snarled. “I know I did everything within my power to make you believe I hate you and it was fully intended. I had not escaped one slaver to find myself willingly submitting to another.”

Anger darkened Anders’ features. “How dare you –“

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes upon you, mage,” the elf confessed. “It isn’t you I hate…I hate myself for desiring you.” He sighed. “At least, I used to, for a long time, until I could no more because it was exhausting. And when you relieved me of the pain my markings caused, I just couldn’t – I couldn’t keep away from you any longer. And I hated myself for having lost that fight.”

Anders’ mouth opened and closed, not a word crossing his lips. In any other situation, Fenris would have prided himself with finally shutting the mage up for good; but their moment, here and now, was too raw and too much laid bare. He hadn’t realized how much it would hurt.

“When I told you that night, that I’d never hurt you in such a way, I meant it,” Fenris continued, so quietly that Anders could barely understand him. “And I felt terrible for having done so, anyway, because I did not pay attention to you or the signs of your body.”

Anders’ brows furrowed as he searched his mind for the memories of that night at his clinic. Blurry at best, he found but he did remember having reacted poorly to something Fenris had done, unintentionally triggering something…

“Go on,” he murmured.

“I had expected things to change between us. All this time and I kept wondering what your intentions were. If there would ever be – something else between us than the mutual satisfaction of bodily needs. I don’t know if you never wished for more or if your spirit prevented you from it and I still cannot tell, now that it’s gone and your mind no longer corrupted by it. Yet, even without the certainty about what you may or may not feel, I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

Fenris got off the bed, the half-eaten apple in a tight grip yet again. Juice was flowing out between his fingers and he glanced at it before looking at Anders. “It is late,” he said tiredly. “You should sleep. You’re exhausted.”

Anders blinked slowly as he watched after Fenris’ retreating form. His mind was a whirlwind yet again and nothing seemed to make sense. The elf baring his soul to him in such a way had the anger and a strong swell of protectiveness return, making him unable to speak, his throat constricting from the force of it. A sickening squishing sound made him look at his hands to find he was the one crushing an apple in his fist. His hand was glowing.

The mage took a few calming breaths; the glowing disappeared, giving way to the wet sensation of smashed apple and juice on his palm and between his fingers. He opened his fist to take a look at the damage, then slowly got up to get rid of the apple in the bath and wash his hand.

There was a full length mirror in the bath Anders hadn’t noticed before. He stared at his reflection, his hair, still openly flowing down to his shoulders, clean and soft from the shampoo Fenris had used on him; the shirt, too big and making him feel sick just wearing it, knowing whom it belonged to, once. The stubble on his face that had become his thing; he had used to be clean-shaven when he was younger, a trait of his almost impossible vanity that the Warden Commander had liked to tease him about, if he hadn’t been making him gifts like earrings, scarves and whatever other “pretty, shiny thing” he found when they had looted. Anders would have never thought he’d have a scruffy look going on some day but found he still didn’t mind, now that Justice was gone and couldn’t berate him about such ‘trivial’ matters as his appearance.

Justice had been a friend, once. Anders wondered how very little the spirit had cared about him after they had joined, calling Anders’ need to look after himself trivial, in so many ways. The spirit was not vain in any sense of the matter, but would a friend really let another waste away?

 _No_ , Anders thought. Friends didn’t do that. Hawke had refused to let it happen, spending his own coin buying Anders food on a regular basis to make sure he ate; provided coin to restock his clinic or have Anders’ boots fixed when they were bad off. Merrill had often brought him feathers she found all over Kirkwall and its surroundings, to add to his pauldron. Varric kept making sure there was always a bowl of stew for him whenever they met at the Hanged Man for card games or planning trips, and he would insist Anders ate it all up. Aveline made sure to distract Templars from his clinic so he’d be safe; not even Sebastian had sold him out to the Chantry and Maker knew Anders wouldn’t exactly call the man a friend and barely had the mind to remain neutral in his presence.

Hawke had given him a _key_ to his estate and shown him the secret passage that led to its basement, in case Anders ever had to hide or just didn’t want to be alone.

Fenris had been there when Anders was slowly dying in a collapsed cave, trying hard to keep him awake and – possibly – alive. Fenris and everyone else had been there while he had recovered, keeping watch over him as he slept. Tonight’s events had been so upsetting for the elf, he’d actually asked him to spend the night at the elf’s run-down mansion.

“And you, of all the people in my life, went and betrayed me,” Anders whispered at his reflection. He felt anger well up once again, hands balling into fists as he tried to keep the surge of magic inside that threatened to burst out of him. “You once told me I’d never be alone again. Turns out the mage-hating elf sounds more convincing saying that than you, you selfish piece of shit.”

_There’s something I want. Something I need. Something I can’t have if you’re still with me._

With a groan, Anders ripped the shirt of his body and left it on the floor carelessly. His anger subsided when he left the bath and grabbed the thin blanket from Fenris’ bad to wrap around himself before following the path Fenris had taken a moment ago.

 

To his surprise, Fenris hadn’t gone to the basement to drink himself into a stupor again; instead, he found him on the first floor, in one of the rooms Anders had only ever glanced into once. It appeared to be Danarius’ former study. There was an expressive, dark-wooden desk in the centre and a heavy armchair; shelves with books Anders would freely admit he’d love to look into. Most of them were from Tevinter, judging by the covers, a lot of books on anatomy that he was not surprised to find in a blood mage’s possession. He had never dared ask Fenris if he could borrow some, knowing the elf was expecting Anders to turn to blood magic the moment he had the chance, which was ridiculous in Anders’ opinion. He’d never had a very high opinion of blood magic. He’d seen and heard about what it had caused at the Circle of Magi in Ferelden, from Wynne and the Warden Commander; about Jowan, who’d been brought to Redcliff to secretly teach a child that had shown first signs of magic ability, a blood mage that had fled from the Circle to avoid certain death because he’d poked his nose into powers he best had left alone. It still saddened Anders that Jowan apparently had thought blood magic to be his way out of oppression, not withstanding the fascination and the need for power. It was something Anders could pride himself with – he’d never given in to it, no matter how many times he’d found himself in seemingly hopeless situations or how hard Templars had tried to break him.

Anders paused by the door, just looking at Fenris sitting in the semi dark, in the enormous armchair that made him look so small and fragile, Anders’ heart ached at the sight. He’d started a fire in the fireside, the dim light casting dark shadows on the elf’s aloof face.

_I wonder…Had the circumstances been different…do you think it would have been different between us?_

_I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes upon you, mage._

It was pure instinct that made Anders cross the distance between them. Fenris looked up, mildly surprised, when Anders got into the armchair, into the elf’s lap and curled up against him, blanket still wound tightly around his body. His head came to rest on the elf’s slender shoulder and Anders felt himself calm down.

“Anders?”

The mage hummed in acknowledgement.

“What happened to the shirt?” 

“I don’t want to wear something that used to belong to _him_. It disgusts me.” Anders huddled up closer to Fenris, burying his face into the crook of the elf’s neck, basking in the feeling of contentment the elf always caused inside him. Everything was so wonderfully quiet and peaceful inside his head whenever Fenris was close.

Anders inhaled Fenris’ scent, eyes slipping closed when one of Fenris’ arms came around him, just holding him close. His other hand lifted slowly, fingertips barely brushing the mage’s cheek before hesitantly touching his hair. Something stirred in the far back of Anders’ mind as he relaxed further against Fenris’ form, the elf’s scent filling his nostrils.

“We’ve been in this position before,” he murmured against the skin of Fenris’ neck, feeling the barest of shivers running through the elf’s body. The lithe elf tensed for a moment, then the hold of Fenris’ arm tightened around Anders with more confidence.

“Yes,” Fenris confirmed. “You were resting in Hawke’s bed. He’d carried you all the way home from the cave, after you were stable enough to be moved and I wished to check on you.”

_Faint voices. The sounds of heavy and light footsteps on wooden floors, creaking beneath Hawke’s weight. Merrill. He remembered the sound of her voice but couldn’t make out the words spoken. Movement, close to his resting form; a cool touch to his neck, a source of comforting warmth next to him._

_Gentle words, spoken in a hushed voice as he was pulled toward the warmth. Words he strained to hear but couldn’t, still too far away, floating in the space between here and there, lost, trying to repair the bond between body and mind. Another touch, to his lips, sparking something inside him. Something or someone else tugging on his consciousness, holding him back. Demanding. He was fighting it, wanting to get to the source of comfort instead. Anger. Despair._

“You were in bed with me,” Anders murmurmed. “You held me.”

“Yes.”

“You…you kissed me.”

“You remember that?” Fenris sounded surprised. “You were unconscious.”

“I wasn’t really. Something was…” Anders paused. “Something was wrong and it kept me from waking up. But I remember the sensations. I remember wanting to get close to them and couldn’t.”

“ _What_ was wrong, mage?”

“I—I don’t remember.”

Anders pulled back, his head coming to rest on Fenris’ shoulder once again. Gazing up, he found green eyes regarding him shyly from underneath the shock of white hair.

_Calloused hands cupping his face, a sharp pain when something cut into his skin, but too far gone to use the pain to focus on the here, too tired to fight the pull of the Fade any longer. Heartbeat fading out. The touch of lips against his._  
_“I am begging you, mage. I am begging you, Anders. Please. Open your eyes.”_  
_Don’t leave me alone._  
_Joining with you took more from me than I had anticipated._

Anders’ body trembled against the elf’s with the effort of trying to make sense of the fragments his mind provided. He _remembered_ and yet he didn’t. Something was missing and it made him furious that mind kept the solution away from him.

“Anders?”

The mage in question stilled, Fenris’ voice grounding him. Green eyes watching him, openly showing concern, fear, confusion. Anders brought up a hand, resting it tentatively against the elf’s cheek, thumb ghosting over the lyrium lines on the elf’s chin. At first, it seemed Fenris wanted to flinch away from the touch; instead, he leaned into it, his own hand coming to rest on Anders’, holding it in place.

Anders lifted his head, bringing his mouth to Fenris’ for an uncertain, chaste kiss. Fenris stiffed against him, though Anders could tell it was out of surprise, not out of indignation. Thin, dry lips moved then, parting slightly as Fenris returned the kiss, just as chaste and Anders moved into it, applying pressure. Fenris exhaled shakily against his mouth when the mage parted his lips. 

Tongues met, warm, slick, caressing and teasing, tasting, the kiss deepening gradually but remaining unhurried until their lungs demanded oxygen and they broke apart. Anders gasped softly against Fenris’ lips, the elf’s mouth brushing against his. Fenris felt cool fingertips caressing a trail from his neck to the pointed tip of his left ear; a shiver ran down his spine and he bit his lip to keep the groan back that threatened to escape him. The mage ran his tongue over his abused lip, then down his chin, humming at the taste of lyrium.

“Mage,” Fenris whispered, fingertips gently massaging the blond’s scalp. He dared a glance at Anders, finding amber eyes watching him as the gentle caresses on his sensitive ear continued, the mage’s lips slightly swollen and moist from their kiss. The serious, thoughtful expression on his face was familiar – this was the Anders Fenris remembered. The man he’d almost lost; the man he’d pleaded with to come back to him.

Anders’ mouth found his again, not as chaste this time. It was demanding, needy. Their tongues entwined and Anders pulled, bringing their bodies tightly together, arms wrapping around the elf’s neck. Hands splayed on Fenris’ shoulder blades, the first contact of skin against skin causing a storm to roar up inside Anders’ body, causing him to push closer still as the thin blanket slid from his shoulders.

The first touch of Fenris’ warm hand against his skin, against his chest, had Anders jerk, his surprisingly loud moan swallowed by the elf’s lips and tongue. That simple touch made the mage’s skin _crawl_ in a way he’d never experienced before and his thighs shook at the white-hot pleasure spreading inside his body. Fenris froze at the violent reaction and he pulled back.

“No, no…” Anders pleaded, tightening his hold on Fenris. “Please don’t stop.” He moved to reconnect their mouths again. “Please,” he whispered he against the elf’s lips, nipping on them, trying to coax them back onto his.

Fenris indulged him for a moment, kissing him passionately before busying his mouth on Anders’ neck instead, kissing, licking, nipping on the soft, warm skin, the body shuddering in his hold. Long legs drew up and Fenris let one hand come to rest on the mage’s naked thigh. Again, Anders jerked violently at the touch, breath hitching in the mage’s throat. Too sensitive; it was almost like the mage had never been touched before and Fenris knew that not to be true.

The elf’s mouth moved, into the hollow of the mage’s delicate throat where he claimed him with a gentle bite and a low, possessive growl. Anders’ body went rigid in his arms with a gasp and for a moment, the mage wasn’t breathing; then, with a desperate moan, Anders gasped for air before proceeding to pant heavily, his body now pliant in Fenris’ hold. Fenris felt something hot and wet on the hand that still rested on Anders’ thigh; he squeezed the heated flesh and Anders jerked against him weakly.

“I am sorry,” Anders whispered with remorse. “Maker, Fenris, I am _sorry_ , I didn’t—“

“Hush,” Fenris murmured, nuzzling against the bite mark on the mage’s throat. “Don’t be.” He kept his touches light, allowing the mage’s hyper-sensitive body to calm. Anders lowered his head, catching the elf’s mouth with his for a slow, gentle kiss.

Fenris couldn’t tell how long they kissed like this until he could feel Anders grin against his lips. The mage’s body shifted, subtly, careful not to break Fenris’ hold on him, or their kiss, until he was straddling the elf’s lap. Fenris sucked in his breath when their lower bodies came into contact, his hips giving an involuntary thrust when the weight of Anders’ body brushed over the evidence of his own arousal.

“Fenris,” Anders murmured, still grinning widely. A silly grin, Fenris decided, irritated.

“Mage?” Fenris replied, slightly breathless. Slender fingers danced briefly over his upper body, teasing lyriums markings before coming to rest at the waistband of his leggings, slowly pushing beneath it.

“Don’t stop,” Anders whispered, claiming Fenris’ mouth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Stultus spurius – Stupid bastard  
> Non solus es – You are not alone


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not the Circle - and it's no longer just a game. 
> 
> Warning:  
> Beginning of chapter might not be safe for work.

There was a distinct difference, Fenris learned, between sexual desire and the burning need to consume another, be one with them in every sense possible; a distinct difference between wanting to see your desire satisfied and seeking something beyond that, a fulfillment that never ended.

 

There was pleasure found, in every touch, each taste of skin and lips, nostrils filling with spicy, arousing scents, intoxicating and befogging, stoking the hunger like a fire burning deep in the core of one’s being. Hearing, focused completely on the sounds two bodies moving together rhythmically created; intimate, sensual. Senses heightened, skin sensitive and on fire, hearbeats adapting to the same rhythm.

 

Each slow, almost lazy roll of Anders’ hips on his lap, had Fenris writhe in the armchair and Anders tremble in his arms, the mage’s breath hitching every time Fenris connected with the tight bundle of nerves, the blond tight, slick and hot inside. Each roll of his hips was countered by a gentle thrust of Fenris’ own and he drank every sound that escaped Anders’ lips, every gasp, every barely audible moan, every murmur of his name. Anders’ hands were buried in his hair, holding his head in place as they kissed, only ever stopping for air or when the need to taste the skin of the other became too great. Fenris’ hands studied the texture of Anders’ skin, slick with sweat, learning each and every scar on the mage’s back, discovering fine hair and dimples; the sharp edges of the mage’s collarbone beneath his fingertips, the pebbled flesh of the blond’ erected nipples that he brought his mouth to, licking, biting gently, tasting salt and Anders.

 

There was a distinct difference, Fenris realized, between seeking mutual satisfaction and love making and theirs was slow, unhurried, leaving him torn between wanting to claim, to pound into Ander’s willing body until he was screaming from the top of his lungs and slowing it down even _more_ just so their connection would never cease. It was building slowly, the heat, the orgasm that would inevitably result from this. The mage’s hand were careful when they touched his markings, fingertips teasing gently along the lines down his body as palms mapped and discovered, the slow roll of his hips never faltering. The pale moonlight flooding the room, now that the heavy clouds had dissolved, had the mage’s skin look like it was glowing, accenting sharp lines and the shift of strong muscles underneath soft skin, blond hair glittering golden.

 

Anders looked breathtaking and Fenris found himself jealous of everyone who had ever seen the mage like this before him and the desire to make sure no one else ever would. The mage’s beautiful reaction when Fenris had pushed his fingers into the tightness of his body, slicked with the grease spell Anders had used in the past; the way his face contorted in pleasure when those fingers crooked _just_ so, stimulating the right nerve ends and setting them on fire; the way his eyes slipped closed when Fenris kissed him, deep, claiming him yet again. Fenris regretted that he’d never allowed himself to do this in the past, had made sure the mage was kept at distance even during sex, leaving preparation to the mage if Fenris were to take him or preparing himself if he felt the need to let the mage take _him_ instead. Too afraid what the intimacy, apart from the act itself, would cause if Fenris lost himself in it.

 

Anders’ hips slowly picked up pace, the need for release taking over. Fenris gripped the mage’s hips tightly, his body tensing in all the right places to provide stronger thrusts in return until Anders shook on top of him, sweet, breathless gasps dying against the elf’s lips. Fenris straightened his body, pulling Anders flush against him, trapping the other man’s arousal between their bodies, feeling it rub against his stomach. A sob tore free from Anders’ throat at the added stimulation; Fenris removed one hand from the mage’s hips to take hold of him.

 

Anders caught his wrist. “No,” he breathed against Fenris’ kiss-swollen lips, letting his hand entwine with the elf’s, squeezing it tight as pleasure rolled through him like a strong tidal wave. His hips slowed for a moment, adjusting, changing the angle slightly and when Fenris thrust up again, Anders moaned brokenly, thighs shaking against Fenris’s sides. His body tightened almost painfully around the elf, back arching beautifully as he came between them, taking Fenris over the edge with him.

 

It felt like floating, Fenris thought, only able to concentrate on the intensity of the release, welcomed by Anders’ body as he filled him, hot and wet, again and again as if his body refused to ever let his orgasm subside. He groaned loudly against Anders’ lips, soothed by the mage’s soft, sated kisses, feather light touches across his sternum and rapidly beating heart.

 

Anders exhaled shakily, lowering his head to rest it against Fenris’ trembling shoulder, pressing close. Their bodies remained connected. Fenris ran both hands over the mage’s sweaty back, feeling it cool off beneath his fingertips.

 

“Perii,” Anders murmured against his skin and Fenris felt a thrill going through his exhausted body at hearing his mother tongue from the mage’s lips. More kisses followed, along his shoulder, his neck. Sloppy, sweet, comforting. Sated.

 

Fenris closed his eyes and held onto him.

 

 

~*~

 

It felt like he had closed his eyes for only a few minutes, but when he opened them, bright daylight was flooding the room. The fire had gone out, the room now cold and slightly damp.

 

His body ached in the most pleasant way Anders could imagine and he huddled closer to the warm body next to him, pulling the thin blanket he’d picked up after Fenris had fallen asleep tighter around their bodies. They were still in the armchair, with Anders sitting across Fenris’ lap, legs pulled up and his head resting on the sleeping elf’s shoulder. Fenris’ breaths were slow and even and when Anders dared glancing up, he smiled at the other’s relaxed features. A look he’d never seen on the elf before.

 

Anders reached up, caressing over Fenris’ cheek gently. The elf made a soft noise in the back of his throat and his head tilted to the side, coming to rest against the mage’s. Anders smile widened and he closed his eyes again, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment.

 

They were facing the morning after. Together. Not apart, not lonely in their respective beds, not debating with themselves if it should ever happen again. Together.

  
_This is what I fought for_ , Anders thought and the thought left him with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He knew, instinctively, that he did. He _had_ fought for this.

 

Fought against whom? Who had threatened them?

 

Anders willed away the uneasiness, the darkness. Now was not the time. He wouldn’t let his scattered mine drag him down whenever it pleased, not today, not this morning. He wanted to feel, to enjoy, to rediscover what had been lost for longer than he dared remember.

 

He allowed emotions to course through his body like a whirlwind, more to add to his collection of things he’d forgotten or were oppressed inside him. Happiness. Joy. Satisfaction. To be wanted, to matter to someone enough that he was ready to swallow his hate for Anders’ kind and see past the obstacles that would have otherwise kept them apart forever. To realize what everything Fenris said to him last night meant and what it had taken the elf to tell him.

 

_I fought for this and you will not take it away from me._

 

Anders frowned and buried his face into Fenris’ neck, his favorite place it seemed and willed himself back to sleep. Only a moment longer, so they wouldn’t have to separate just yet, even though they obviously were in dire need of another bath once they did.

 

The memory of his almost violent reaction to Fenris’ first touch against his skin kept sleep away though. Had he been this sensitive before? Anders couldn’t remember. Sensitive, yes, but not so much that a few still fairly innocent touches would have him come all over himself without so much as a warning.

 

_Have you really numbed me that much, Justice?_

 

Sex with Fenris in the past had done its job, Anders knew. He had been sated; his body had been, at least, never his mind because Justice was there and wouldn’t allow the distraction. He’d be quiet, yes, blessedly so, but only until Anders had recovered from the hormonal high and singing nerve ends.

 

Last night, he saw stars. Drawing satisfaction more from Fenris’ coming inside him than his own release, the feeling of being claimed, desired. To see Fenris come undone with pleasure, to know that he was the one causing it. The need to give back to the elf after everything he’d given him, whether Fenris was aware of it or not.

 

_Is that all?_

 

No, Anders realized. There was something else. It was blossoming inside him, had been since Fenris’ confession; it was what had made him seek out the elf, his closeness.

 

_I’ve fought for this._

  
“Dormio,” Fenris muttered into his hair, surprising Anders enough to make him jump a little. “It is still early.”

 

Anders smiled. “Teneo me,” he whispered back and Fenris did just that, arms tightening around his mage.

 

 

~*~

 

_It was the first actual sunlight they had seen in days. Anders had been almost convinced the sun never shone in Vigil’s Keep but this morning, he woke up to find a pale blue sky, sunlight chasing away the shadows. There were even birds singing in the nearby trees, their song accompanying the harsh sounds of the dwarves working hard to restore the walls surrounding the Vigil and make sure it would never be taken again._

_Oghren’s roaring laughter reached his ear. Anders let his gaze drift across the hall, studying the people filling it. Merchants and nobles, waiting to speak with the Warden Commander, arl of Amaranthine, about their petty little problems; Varrel talking to Oghren about something that seemed to amuse the dwarf to no end and Varrel incredibly confused as to why that was. Anders figured Oghren probably didn’t even know himself, seeing as he was never sober._

_Nathaniel Howe, sitting quietly in a corner, his breakfast seemingly forgotten as he was lost in thoughts; not even noticing that Pounce kept stealing bites from his plate. Anders found himself smiling at his sneaky furry friend; having a cat again was a true source of joy for him._

_His gaze wandered to the elf sitting across him, reading a letter he’d just received from the king: he seemed to pay attention to every single word, that’s how engrossed the Warden Commander seemed in that letter. Anders couldn’t blame him – he had seen the strong emotions in the king’s eyes, and the Warden Commander’s, when Alistair had come to the Keep to check on them; had been surprised at the open affection, the gentle kiss Alistair had given Mael before taking off again and it had been clear how much they hated being apart._

_“You’re so very lucky,” Anders murmured before he could stop himself._

_Green eyes slowly lifted from the letter, fixing on him. Anders shifted in his seat – Mael had this talent of looking at someone and give them the impression he was able to gaze right at the very core of their being, unable to hide anything from the elf._

_“Am I now?” Mael asked in that soft, melodic voice of his. “I had to escape my home because I dared freeing friends of mine from a human noble who believed elves are toys to do with as he pleased. My lifespan was cut short when I joined the Wardens. I had to face an extremely ugly Archdemon. Now I have to take care of a run-down place to make sure it’ll withstand further attacks by Darkspawn and I have nobles and merchants chasing me down wherever I go so I solve their stupid little problems with them. Not to mention having to explain to the king that I have conscripted the son of the man who killed Cailan, his half-brother.”_

_“I know, I know,” Anders said with a grin. “But at the end of the day…you have him, don’t you?”_

_Mael quirked an eyebrow._

_  
“A man who would willingly give up everything for you. Who is open about his feelings for you, whether or not people approve of it and doesn’t give a damn about where you come from or who you are.”_

_Mael hummed and carefully folded the letter before putting it aside, his big, green eyes now completely focused on him with an intensity that had Anders look away._

_“I never thanked you,” he said. “For what you did, yesterday.”_

_“What was it that I did?” Mael asked._

_“You stood by me. I led us into a trap, unknowingly, and Rylock was there, ready to see me dead. You could have handed me over and be done with it.”_

_The corners of Mael’s mouth quirked up. “I don’t see why I would have had any reason to.”_

_“You know what she accuses me of, other than having been born a mage.”_

_“Killing the Templars that have taken you here, yes.” Mael sighed and leaned back in his chair. “We do protect our own, Anders. Something you’ll learn sooner or later.”_

_“Of course.”_

_“So, did you?”_

_Anders’ back stiffened. “Did I what?”_

_“Kill them. The Templars I found you with.”_

_Anders forced out a cheerful laugh. “Little too late to ask me that now, isn’t it? You pissed off Rylock, now she’s dead. No matter what I tell you, those are facts that won’t change.”_

_“I’ll be content to simply know the truth.”_

_Mael stoic calmness could make one’s skin crawl. It sure made his skin crawl and not in a pleasant way._

_“What if I did?” Anders asked quietly._

_“I would ask for the reason.”_

_Pounce joined them at their table, climbing into Anders’ lap to curl up, purring happily at the warmth and the mage’s hand petting his little head affectionately._

_“You’re not a murderer,” Mael said. “You’re not cold-blooded and you don’t inflinct more violence than necessary. You’re a Spirit Healer, Anders, it’s not in your nature. Even if your freedom is at stake. If you had wanted to remain free, you would have killed them as soon as they got you, not gone with them all the way back to the Circle, more than once.”_

_“I could be a very, very bad man and you’d never know,” Anders pointed out._

_“You survived the Joining.” Mael offered a smile. “To survive the Joining tells more about a man than mere words or deeds could. Many believe themselves accomodators only to fail because the corruption inside them is too great and the Darkspawn blood you drink latches on it like a baby latches on its mother’s breasts. Just remember what happened to Mhairi.” Mael gave him a meaningful look._

_Mhairi. Proud, strong little thing with a righteous heart. Anders still couldn’t believe she hadn’t survived the Joining while he had. He had been sure she’d be just fine and he’d choke on the Darkspawn blood until he knew no more._

_“So…even if you did kill them, you obviously did it for a very good reason, not because you simply could.”_

_Anders glanced at Pounce in his laps, still purring and gently chewing on the fingers that pet him, tiny paws wrapped around his hand to hold it in place. That sweet little thing had no care in the world and Anders envied him for it. Maybe, in his next life, he could be a cat as well and find someone to take care of him until he was old, missing teeth and shedding more fur than was healthy and die happily._

_An entertaining thought, at the very least._

_“They got a…little too close,” Anders murmured. The mere memory made his stomach churn and left him feeling nauseous. “Closer…than they should have. I didn’t want to subject myself to something like this again to have my life spared.”_

_Mael regarded him calmly._

_“I was ready to defend myself, even though I knew they had the ability to silence me before I even get to cast a spell in their direction. I guess it was my luck the hurlocks came in when they did.”_

_“Has that happened before?” Mael asked._

_“In my case, last when I was in solitary confinement for a year. I can’t speak for the other mages in the Circle. I know some Templars regularly take things too far.” Anders inhaled shakily. “The hurlocks distracted them long enough for me to get rid of them, first thing, before taking care of those creatures. So, yes, Rylock spoke the truth.”_

_“She called you a murderer,” the elf pointed out. “That would entail killing them in cold blood. You didn’t.”_

_Amber eyes glanced up, hopeful._

_“They were abusing you. In my book, you had every right to do what you did. Would it have been better to report them instead? Maybe. But no one thinks clearly when finding themselves in such a situation. They went too far.” Again, Mael was smiling. “Which means I was right in defending you against Rylock yesterday, apart from the fact that I do not appreciate being lured into a trap and she deserved a kick in the ass for that alone.”_

_Anders found himself smiling back. For someone who was judged upon for making the mere mistake of being alive, for starters, it was…strange to receive support instead._

_“You’re safe here, Anders,” Mael said, as if he could read the mage’s mind._

_“You can’t protect me from the Templars forever. You heard what she said.”_

_“I am sure Alistair will disagree on that as soon as I tell him.” The elf sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Don’t run away, Anders. I know you want to, but no one here means any harm. You can be as free as you want to be, make your own decisions, live your life the way you deem fit, like any other Warden does if we’re not fighting Darkspawn or try to stop the Blight. All that is required, is standing united against the enemy, if the time comes.”_

_“I’m a mage. That fact won’t change and neither will people’s opinion on it, Grey Warden or no. I can hardly go, build a house somewhere, marry, have children and be actually free, Mael,” Anders retorted bitterly. “I may not be locked away in the tower anymore and have my every step watched by Templars, but mages are never truly free unless they hide away somewhere until they turn old, grey and die. Alone.”_

_Mael seemed to consider that for a moment. His pointed ears twitched a little as he debated with himself, Anders’ arguments and the situation of the mages in general._

_“Maybe not,” he eventually admitted reluctantly. “But at the very least, I can offer to help you gain as much freedom as possible, if you let me.”_

_It was more than Anders ever had since he’d been dragged to the Circle. At least Mael was honest about it, for which Anders was grateful._

_“So…anything else I should know?”_

_Anders blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Pardon me?”_

_“Is there someone in the Circle waiting for you? Do I need to go there and kick ass again to get them out? What about your family? You’re from the Anderfels, aren’t you?”_

_“My family gave me away and my father did not look sad at the prospect,” Anders grunted out. “Other than that…no. No special someone. There’s no place for that in the Circle.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Love’s a game and you do well if you know how to play it. It gets you what you want, sometimes it even prevents you from more severe punishment or abuse, if you bat your eyelashes at the right person, First Enchanter, fellow mage or even a Templar. Dare to care for someone and see them taken away from you, just because they can. I saw it happen often enough during my first years there. Nothing ever means anything.”_

_Except for Karl. Anders wondered if he was alright. Karl, the only exception he ever made. Karl, whom he’d left behind, who was probably worried sick and yet Anders could not allow himself to let his feelings for the other man grow further than they already had._

_Maybe he could write him? Let him know he was fine, if rumors of him now being a Grey Warden hadn’t already found their way to the Circle._

_“I see.”_

_“Which is why I said you’re lucky. I…I guess I envy you.” Anders could feel a blush creeping up and he cleared his throat. “So, uhm…what are the plans for today? More Darkspawn, I presume?”_

_Mael chuckled at that. “Well, we do need to check out that collapsed tunnel beneath the Keep and make sure no more Darkspawn sneaks up on us in the middle of the night,” he said. “Which reminds me, I should check how far they progressed with clearing the path.” Slowly, Mael got up, grabbing the king’s letter. “Thank you for sharing all this with me.”_

_Anders hummed. Pounce had fallen asleep in his lap by now and he really didn’t want to move just yet._

_“One more thing.” Mael tilted his head to the side, giving Anders an encouraging smile. “Just remember, that you are no longer in the Circle. There’s no need to play games anymore.”_

~*~

 

Anders mumbled incoherently, his eyelids fluttering as he fought waking up. He was warm, safe and content and refused to leave that place just yet. Harsh sunlight tickled over his face, warming it and he could already _feel_ more freckles forming on his pale skin, to his annoyance.

 

There was a strong heartbeat where his ear rested against warm skin; strong, vital, lulling him in. A hand in his hair, carefully threading through golden strands to not cause any discomfort. Anders could smell sex, salt and sweat, lyrium and something he could not quite define but made him feel content.

 

“Hawke will await us at the Hanged Man soon,” a low, rumbling voice informed him, the mere sound of it sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. “To see Varric and make sure he’s alright.”

 

_Varric. Bartrand. Corrupted mind. Fenris. Mansion. The previous night._

 

Slowly, amber eyes blinked open, greeted by tanned skin and lyrium lines. Anders snuffled, burying his face into the elf’s chest and pressing a kiss against the other’s sternum. One of Fenris’ hands cupped his chin, tilting his head up for a slow, tender kiss. Anders found his mind returning to the dream he’d just had – not just a dream, a memory, of a conversation held many years ago with the first man he’d found himself trusting with his life and whom he’d bitterly disappointed by what he did; broken his trust in Anders when the mage had turned his back on the Grey Wardens and run away. Again. Only this time, not to find freedom, but out of shame and his insecurities.

 

The kiss ended and Anders found himself looking into a pair of deep green eyes, not unlike Mael’s, that regarded him with so many barely contained emotions his chest tightened.

 

This wasn’t the Circle, Anders realized. And this – this was not a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perii – I am ruined  
> Dormio – Sleep  
> Teneo me – Hold me


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric breaks Anders' heart, Fenris is deliciously jealous and Hawke really hates politics.  
> Also, Anders changing his tune.  
> In short, a small break from all the seriousness because we do need laughs and Anders needs to let off some steam!

Varric, it seemed, was better off than Hawke had imagined him to be. He’d expected to come to the Hanged Man, the dwarf’s room a mess, broken furniture, arrows sticking out of the walls, a dozen empty bottles scattered on the floor and the dwarf either passed out across his desk, on the floor, or already plotting murder on some people that caused way too much trouble to the dwarf’s liking.

 

There _were_ bottles but they were all lined up on the desk; Varric was on his bed, positively passed out, the smell of cheap alcohol hanging thickly in the air. Isabela made a face at the terrible stench and went to open a window.

 

True to being a rogue, Varric stirred at the noise. It didn’t matter how quiet Isabela tried to be. The dwarf grunted, eyes blinking open, only to close right away, a pained groan escaping him.

 

“Too early,” Varric complained.

 

“It’s noon,” Hawke pointed out in a whisper.

 

“Can’t be.”

 

A cool hand placed on his forehead. When had one of them gotten so close? The touch was followed by the gentle flow of healing magic and Varric sighed when the searing headache began to subside. “Fuck me, Blondie, that feels good.”

 

He heard the mage chuckle above him. “Oh, _now_ you tell me, after years of pining over you and crying myself to sleep every night. You really break my heart, Varric, you know that?”

 

Hawke snorted and Varric was not surprised to hear an indignant huff from a certain elf. He knew Fenris had crossed his arms without having to open his eyes and look at him.

 

“I would have,” Varric carried on their little joke. “No matter how pretty you are, Blondie, or how limber and exciting in bed, you just can’t compete with Bianca. Sorry.”

 

“I would have tried, for sure,” Anders replied, barely suppressed laughter in his voice. “Don’t underestimate my talents, dwarf.”

 

“Aaaah, intriguing…maybe I shouldn’t have denied your advances after all?”

 

“Too late now, Varric…you’ll never know what you missed out on. But know you will always have a very special place in my heart, you handsome sod.”

 

Another, loud huff from Fenris and Varric laughed, eyes finally opening to look into amber ones, sparkling with amusement and happiness as they returned the gaze.

 

“Well, hello there, Blondie,” Varric greeted the mage around a chuckle.

 

“Nice to see you, Serah Tethras.”

 

“Ow, I told you not to call me that!”

 

“Serah Tethras? Does have a nice to ring to it,” Hawke chuckled.

 

With a grunt, Varric sat up, stretching his short limbs before casting a glance around the room. The same faces he’d seen only half a day ago and yet they were not. Isabela was obviously trying hard not to look at him with pity, Hawke was openly compassionate as Varric had expected their leader to be. Fenris, from his spot by the door, was watching Varric and Anders intently but there no threatening glare in his eyes, his features soft and open. Anders, still kneeling by his bed, seemed to be vibrating. Varric couldn’t remember ever seeing the mage look so alive.

 

“Well, it would seem I’d be too late indeed,” Varric said teasingly and winked at the blond. Anders merely offered a secret smile and patted the dwarf’s shoulder before getting up.

 

“How are you feeling?” Hawke asked. Straight to the point, as usual.

 

“If you are referring to my brother, Hawke, be assured I’ve come to terms with it. If the choice was having him live in a dark fantasy world with him losing his mind further or giving him the only kind of peace left for him to find, I am content with having freed him from the madness he was in.” Varric slid off the bed, eyeing the mess on his desk. “It’ll be interesting to explain that to my mother, though.”

 

Removing the bottles from his desk, Varric once again checked the several notes and letters he’d received the previous day. He had read through them last night, but his drunken state then prevented remembering much. “I’d prefer not to discuss that matter any further.”

 

“Are you sure?” Anders asked.

 

“Very sure, Blondie. We all mourn in our own ways.” Varric picked up a letter from the pile. “Alain has been inquiring after you, by the way.”

 

The mage’s frown told Varric that piece of memory hadn’t fully returned yet. “One of the mages in the Gallows? The one reporting Ser Karras has been ‘visiting’ him in his chambers?”

 

The frown was followed by disgust. “I— I think I remember him, yes.”  Fenris passed Anders a worried look.

 

“Apparently, he’s worrying about the mage underground and asked of your whereabouts, since he couldn’t find you in your clinic.” Varric put the letter aside. “Orsino wrote as well. It seems Meredith is causing more and more uproar in the Gallows.”

 

Hawke sighed. “These two still going at it? Meredith should worry about finding a new Viscount.”

 

“She wants that position for herself,” Anders argued. “Even if she puts someone else on the Viscount’s chair, we both know he’ll be the same as Dumar, doing as she wishes and nothing will change, not for you, not for me, Kirkwall’s residents or the mages in the Circle and bastards like Karras will continue abusing them whenever he pleases.”

 

“I hate to say it, seeing as I prefer to stay out of political matters or mage plights, but Sparklefingers is right,” Isabela spoke up.

 

“Much as Dumar was Meredith’s puppet, though, he did manage to keep a certain balance,” Anders pointed out, eyes narrowing at Isabela. “Sadly, we lost him, thanks to you pissing off the Qunari because you couldn’t keep your fingers off something that belongs to them.”

 

Whatever was on the tip of Isabela’s tongue, she swallowed it with a grim face and opted to stare out of the window instead.

 

“The situation of the mages is partly on your head, too,” Hawke pointed out angrily. Varric would never quite understand why Hawke continued to be so protective over Isabela. “You’re the one who founded the mage underground and helped several of them to escape, drawing Meredith’s attention on them and you.”

 

“You talked to Alain. You _heard_ what he said about Karras. Tell me I did not have a good reason, Hawke,” Anders challenged. “Tell me that mages being beaten, or raped, is something I should not be concerned about, or anyone, for that matter. Isabela brought the Qunari’s wrath upon us because she couldn’t keep her hands to herself, as usual. The mages did nothing to deserve what’s happening to them and they have no one who cares enough to protect them because in the eyes of everyone _normal_ , mages are nothing more than disfigured monsters and a sin in the eyes of the Maker. What happened thanks to her, the Viscount slaughtered, his son murdered, innocents being killed, _that_ could have been prevented if she hadn’t been lying to us. _You_ could have been killed, trying to save the city, _Champion_.”

 

“She came back to put  a stop to it,” Hawke argued.

 

“Too late!”

 

“Enough of this!” Fenris snapped. Four pairs of eyes turned to him, surprised. “There is no telling if the Arishok would have drowned Kirkwall in blood or not in the end, anyway. He stated numerous times that Kirkwall is corrupt and needs a stronger hand to be led by. He was not very fond of Dumar, we all know that.” He sighed. “And as for the mages, there’s no telling if their situation wouldn’t be the same with or without Anders’ meddling in Circle affairs and obviously, the problems occuring in the Circles have existed for a very long time already. Both of you, drop it. Now.”

 

Varric cleared his throat. “Either way, it’s starting to feel less cozy around here. People have been voting for Hawke to become our new Viscount and they still do. Be assured, that drives Meredith up the wall.”

 

“I don’t like politics,” Hawke said with a groan.

 

“You’re still their best option,” Anders answered, his tone apologetic. “ _Our_ best option, Hawke, to prevent the worst from happening.”

 

“So, you’d want me to become Viscount so I can help you with your mage underground? Is that it?”

 

“If these fools won’t fight for themselves, then I will not stick out my neck for them anymore, either.”

 

“You…are abandoning the mage underground?” Fenris asked, surprise clear in his voice and on his face.

 

“The mage underground was Justice’s doing, mostly,” Anders explained. “Am I still willing to help mages? Yes. I do still believe there’s a better way to live together in peace than having us locked away in a tower and collared, or made Tranquil. But what Justice couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see is the way mages used us. If they were caught later on, do you honestly think they would have taken the blame, if it meant they would be executed for it? No. Meredith is on my trail because the mages the Templars managed to capture _told_ her about me. Justice would have no qualms dying a martyr. I do, though. If they cannot remain free and look after themselves, _fight_ for their rights, then I am not willing to risk my own life for them. I fought too hard to remain free all those years to lose my head over a bunch of Maker be damned cowards.” He sighed. “So, to be honest, at the moment, I couldn’t care less about the mage underground, yes.”

 

Hawke frowned at Anders. He seemed – sad?

 

“What I do care about is living in peace, though,” Anders continued. “And I know that you could bring peace to this place, Hawke. That is my reason for suggesting you take the position as Viscount and keep an eye on everything, just and fair.”

 

“I…” Hawke scratched the back of his head. “I am honored. And thankful for the trust you put in me.”

 

“I am not known to trust easily, so you’re welcome, I guess.”

 

“He really is gone, isn’t he?” Varric spoke up in amazement. “If Justice was still in there somewhere, you would have taken apart my room, a moment ago, raging and spitting hateful insults.”

 

“I told you he’s gone,” Anders said, irritated.

 

“It was one of the many things I wondered about, last night, after seeing…seeing you lose your cool in Bartrand’s estate.”

 

Isabela finally dared casting a glance into Anders’ direction. Curious. Questioning.

 

“And we’re left with…you. Just you. The man you were before him.”

 

“I’m not that man anymore, either.”

  
“Anyway!” Varric clapped his hands together. “I do agree with Anders on the Viscount matter, Hawke. The people of Kirkwall want you. You have a good heart beating in that enormous chest of yours.”

 

“And you have us,” Isabela pointed out.

 

“I am not sure about this,” Hawke muttered.

 

“The mage is right,” Fenris spoke up. Varric noticed Anders throwing the elf a thankful glance at that. “It will restore at least some of the peace and everyone will gain from it. Even the mages, because _you_ will not shy away from Meredith, like Dumar has. You had recognition from the Arishok, enough that he challenged you to a battle on behalf of the entire city, rather than continuing to murder and slay as he had before you faced him.”

 

“Maybe even Elthina will listen to you,” Anders murmured.

  
“Blondie and Daisy would be safe, for the most part,” Varric added.

 

“The mage will be safe because will I keep him such,” Fenris countered. Hawke turned around, glancing at the elf, then Anders. What Hawke saw, Fenris wasn’t sure, but the warrior smirked knowingly, like he had last night when he’d encouraged Anders to grant Fenris’ wish to stay with him.

 

“You will,” he agreed with a nod, still smirking. Fenris felt his ears heat up and quickly looked at his feet.

 

“I shall keep an eye out for the witch as well,” he muttered.

 

“Thank you, Fenris.”

 

“And how do you suggest we go about helping Hawke to get the title of the Viscount, dwarf?” Isabela asked.

 

“Oh, leave that to me, Rivaini,” Varric replied with a promising, if not ominous grin.

 

 

 

“I hope you know we will all have to watch our backs if you start competing with Meredith,” Isabela said as soon as they left the Hanged Man.

 

“Which is the best reason not to do it,” Hawke admitted with a sigh.

 

“There are many even better reasons why you should,” Anders argued gently. “We can protect ourselves. There are many who can’t.”

 

“When I came here, it was to bring my family to safety and possibly make a living.” Hawke cast a desperate glance toward the sky. “Not to meddle in politics.”

 

“We could also just pack up our belongings and go somewhere else,” Isabela suggested. “Have any of you ever thought of that?”

 

“You owe Kirkwall more than that, I’m afraid,” Anders shot back. “Many died because of you. _Children_ died, Isabela.”

 

The pirate looked sour now. “Are you starting again?”

 

“I am pointing out the facts to you, lest you forget.”

  
“And what about you?” she sneered. “You may have known or befriended some of the strongest and most popular people in Thedas, but what can _you_ offer when it comes to heroid deeds? You run away, all the time, just like me.”

 

“I am not running now, am I?” the mage challenged, his jaw setting.

 

“Well, you are the one who should. Ex-possessed renegade apostate, mage, hunted by Templars and Grey Wardens alike. You think they’ll draw the line with us when they finally find you?”

 

“How about you lower your voices?” Hawke growled.

  
“How about they shut up completely?” Fenris suggested. “I said, it’s enough. If I hear one more word on either matter from either of you, I will inflict violence upon you.”

 

“Well, it would be an interesting change to having violence inflicted upon me so I _talk_ ,” Anders remarked dryly. “So good to know some things never change, no matter where I am or with whom. Does screaming count? Because I will probably do that, a _lot_.”

 

Green eyes widened in horror; Hawke winced.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that, mage!” Fenris exclaimed, at the same time as Hawke said soothingly, “That sure was an empty threat.”

 

Anders looked pained, one hand reaching up to rub over his forehead.

 

“Mage,” Fenris murmured, hands reaching for the blond’s arms, grabbing them gently. Pulling him close. “Anders, look at me.”

 

Anders did and for a moment, they just stared at each other.

 

“I know,” Anders breathed out eventually. “I know.”

 

“So, Broody and Sparklefingers are now an item, then?” Isabela piped up. Fenris rolled his eyes at that, which made Anders smile.

 

“It is none of your business, pirate,” the elf growled, “but I do advice you stay away from his _fingers_ from now on.”

 

Anders snorted and Isabela cooed.

  
“Ooooh, jealousy. Such a smoldering hot look on you, Sweet Cheeks. And justified, too, because I do remember what he can do in bed and it is –“

 

Fenris’ eyes narrowed at her. “One more word, _lupa_ , and you’ll lose your tongue.”

 

“He just insulted me, didn’t he?” Isabela asked the mage, who was biting his lip to keep from laughing.

  
“Possibly. Nothing he hasn’t called you before, though,” Anders forced out, his smile widening.

 

Isabela cackled at that. “Shame, really. There aren’t many men who can make a woman scream in pleasure. Or other men, for that matter.”

 

Anders took a mock bow at that, eyebrows quirked. “Thank you, thank you Isabela, always happy to hear my services were received so well it still causes talking years later.”

 

“Services?” Fenris asked, incredulously while Isabela laughed out loud, delighted.

 

“Aaah, Sparklefingers. My life would be so boring without you,” she cackled.

 

“ _Services_?” Fenris tried, again. “Mage, what is she talking about?”

 

“Relax, Fenris,” Anders said with a chuckle. “It was a mere joke, even though that night indeed took place at a brothel. The Pearl, was it?”

 

“It was,” Isabela confirmed with a nod.

 

“What were you doing in a _brothel_ , mage?”

  
“What was I doing there, indeed.” Anders smirked and leaned forward, pressing his mouth against Fenris’ for a quick, audible kiss. “A story I shall tell you another time.”

 

Gauntleted hands forcefully grabbed the mage by the collar of his feathered pauldron, holding him in place. Anders tensed, the playfulness leaving his eyes instantly. Fenris paused at the unexpected reaction; clearly, he would have to be more thoughtful with this kind of action in the future.

 

“Fenris,” Hawke spoke up, sounding uncertain about the situation, “let go off him.”

 

“You fear I will harm you,” Fenris murmured, completely ignoring Hawke. “Why?”

 

“I have no good memories of being grabbed like this without warning.”

 

Fenris released his hold on the mage and found Anders relax almost immediately.

 

“Dimitte me.” Fenris let their noses brush together. “I wish to hear no more about you being in brothels or whatever it is you did with your fingers to Isabela.”

 

Anders blinked at the elf. There was a twitch in the corners of Fenris’ mouth as the elf fought a smile.

 

“You don’t?” Anders teased. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

 

“Do not test me, mage,” Fenris warned but it lacked its usual venom.

 

“It is kind of endearing, though.” The mage smiled.

  
“What is?”

 

“You. Being jealous.”

 

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

 

“Bear with me, I didn’t have a lot of joy in my life, thus far.” Anders tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against Fenris’ cheek. “And neither did you,” he added in a whisper.

 

“Anders?”

 

It was that tone of voice Hawke possessed and used whenever it was necessary someone paid attention to him. Anders glanced over to his friend, who was offering a gentle smile.

 

“Hate to disturb the two of you but there’s someone who’d like to speak with you.”

 

He was surprised to see Alain peek around Hawke’s sturdy form, a mixture of relief and confusion on the young mage’s face.

 

“I just spoke to Varric and saw you out here,” Alain explained.

 

“How did you get out of the Gallows?” Anders asked in disbelief.

 

“Knight Commander Meredith needed someone for an errand and I volunteered.” Alain took a few step toward the apostate, hands wrung together. “We were worried about you. What happened? Where have you been?”

 

“Nothing exciting. I died, came back from the dead and have since been recovering.”

 

Alain paled. “You…you died?”

 

“Oh, the story hasn’t made its round yet? Varric’s getting lazy.” Anders forced a smile on his lips. “He told me about your letter, though.”

 

“When can we expect you back?”

 

“You may not expect him back at all,” Fenris snarled. Anders shot him a warning look.

 

“What the elf meant to say is, that I have decided not to aid the mage underground any further,” Anders said. “I’ve done what I could organizing it and showing you how to escape. I can’t do more than that, Alain. If you wish to carry on, find someone who will lead you.”

 

Alain regarded Anders, shock written over his face. Hawke could see a thousand thoughts crossing the young mage’s mind, terrifying thoughts, fear and doubts.

 

“But…but how will we do it without you? With your experience and –“

 

“I can’t help people who don’t want to be helped,” Anders stated. “You escape, you make a stupid mistake and get caught, they threaten with severe punishment or tranquility…I don’t want to think about how many of our friends have readily betrayed me by telling the Templars and Meredith who helped them and where to find me to avoid either.”

 

“They would never…” Alain paused.

 

“They are still alive and did not look beaten or were made Tranquil,” the blond pointed out. “I’m not so stupid to believe the Templars had mercy. I know them too well to realize that something else is the reason. Not to mention the frequency with which Templars have patrolled Darktown during the past few weeks.”

 

Slowly, Alain shook his head, eyes downcast now. Anders knew that Alain was aware he had no good argument against his theories or maybe the younger mage knew Anders spoke truth.

 

“I showed you the way. But you have to fight for yourself to achieve freedom and your Maker given rights, Alain. Not on my head, though, enough people already want to cut it off.”

 

“What happened to you?” Alain asked with sadness.

 

At that, Anders smiled. “I woke up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Lupa – Whore  
> Dimitte me – Forgive me


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders' clinic is raided in his absence and the mage has to make an unpleasant confession to Hawke.  
> Hawke is not pleased when Anders turns out to be tired hiding from Templars and decides to stand his ground when his best friend finds himself threatened on Anders' behalf.  
> \--  
> This chapter ended up getting rather long again.  
> And once again, thank you all so very very much for the kudos and comments! You people are crazy! :)
> 
> ///  
> EDIT: Thanks so much to Kleineganz for pointing out I got Cullen's title/rank wrong! It was corrected :)

Hawke and Anders had difficulties keeping up with Aveline’s hurried steps as she led them through the secret passage from Hawke’s estate to Anders’ clinic. She had surprised the two of them while they had been discussing matters about Hawke running for Viscount. Hushed whispers filled Kirkwall’s streets already, thanks to Varric letting it leak to the right people. It had evoked the positive resonance from Kirkwall’s residents, just like they had expected. Now it was a matter of time and careful words and turned out quite adept when it came to coming up with political speeches.

 

They had been in the middle of preparing a public speech, after Meredith had sent a message about wanting to meet Hawke on the Gallows courtyard to demand answers about his sudden interest in Kirkwall politics and Varric assured them the common folk would gather there as well, wanting to hear what Hawke had to say, now that he was finally making himself available for the post, like they had hoped he would after saving the city from the Qunari. The door had flung open, a concerned Aveline bursting into the estate. She had relaxed immediately when she found Anders safe and sound.

 

“There’s trouble,” she’d announced, turning on her heels. “Come with me.”

 

 

As soon as they left the secret passage, Anders’ heart sank a little when he found the door to his clinic wide open. “I thought Varric said no one can pick that lock,” Anders muttered under his breath.

 

There was only minimal damage inside the clinic, much to his and Hawke’s surprise. Clearly, it had been searched – cots had been pushed aside, Anders’ desk had been moved; even the mess he’d created over two weeks ago had been pushed aside.

 

“Templars?” Hawke asked after he’d taken a look around.

 

“No,” Anders said with a  shake of his head. “They would have destroyed the entire place, to make a statement.”

 

“The Templars have stopped patrolling Darktown over the past few days,” Aveline confirmed. “Apparently, Meredith came to the conclusion it was no longer needed to waste capable men and time searching the sewers for an apostate.”

 

“Or someone told them I won’t be found here, for the time being,” Anders gritted out.

 

“Well, someone was clearly looking for you.”

 

“No, they were looking for _something_ , but not me.” Anders carefully walked through the clinic, eyes scanning the place, searching for clues.

 

“What would they be interested in?” Hawke asked. “Coin? Potions? Maybe Darktown residents were looking for food or potions to tie themselves over until their resident healer returns?”

 

“They don’t have the means to break in here, not after Varric installed that lock on my door.” Anders gestured at it. “The door is _intact_. Someone managed to pick the lock.” He sighed. “And I had planned to return here tomorrow and start healing people again. What a way to welcome me back.”

 

“The question remains, what business would someone, other than a Templar, have to search your clinic? Have you been hiding something of worth? An artifact? Forbidden books?” Aveline narrowed her eyes at him. “Notes on the mage underground that would allow them to find out who is a part of it and possibly have them executed?”

  
“The answer is no, to all your questions.”

 

Anders paused; there was that feeling again, something nagging in the back of his mind, like it did so often when something triggered it, making him aware of yet another thing he’d forgotten.

 

_Think, Anders._

“Your manifesto?” Hawke suggested. “It sure would be a thorn in someone’s side.”

 

“It’s gone.”

 

Hawke frowned. “What is?”

 

“The manifesto, Hawke. It’s gone. I ripped it apart and burned it, last time I was here. It’s nothing more than ashes in the wind now.”

 

Dark eyebrows furrowed. Aveline openly gaped at Anders. “Why did you do that?” the warrior asked. “It was important to you.”

 

“It’s not anymore.” Anders sighed. “I read through it and…I just wanted it gone.”

 

“What else?” Aveline asked. “There has to be something.”

 

“I don’t know!” the mage exclaimed, almost furious. “Or I don’t remember, pick whichever answer you like better!”

 

“Calm down, Anders. She’s only trying to help.”

 

_There is something._

 

Slowly, Anders let his gaze travel across the clinic. _There is something that should not end up in the wrong hands. Think, Anders._

 

“What was I doing before I ended up killed?” he asked Hawke. “No matter how trivial it seemed at the time, Hawke, did I say _anything_ strange or did I make weird requests?”

 

Hawke pursed his lips as he searched his memory. “You were furious about the Templars closing in on you. There was the incident in the mines. You read some of your manifesto to me and we discussed your theses.”

 

“No…no…no.” Anders shook his head.

 

“You asked Hawke to help you finding a few strange ingredients,” Aveline spoke up. “You said it was for a Tevinter recipe that would separate you and Justice without any harm for either of you.”

 

“There’s no such thing as a recipe for a potion or whatever to separate –“ Anders froze. He remembered a recipe. “What…what kind of ingredients did I mean to find?”

 

“Sela Petrae is one I remember clearly, because the name was so strange,” Hawke offered. “I didn’t help you with it because I had pressing matters at the time. I had promised to help you with it later but when we spoke again, you were already done finding the ingredients and told me you’d let me know once you’re willing to try it.”

 

“And the day after, you followed Hawke to the Bone Pit to make sure it’s safe now, but a tunnel collapsed above you,” Avelina concluded. “If the ingredients were _not_ for a potion that would help you separate from Justice, what _was_ it for?”

 

“Maker help me,” Anders breathed out when the memory returned. He slowly made his way over to his chair and slumped into it, his staff dropping to the ground. “It was Sela Petrae and Drakestone,” he murmured.

 

“And what does it do, if combined?” Hawke asked.

 

“It’s an explosive, Hawke. A very powerful explosive.” Anders ran a hand through his hair; it was trembling. “I created an explosive to be deposited in the catacombs of the church.”

 

“What for?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“You planned to blow up the Chantry and possibly kill hundreds of innocents?” Aveline roared. “Have you lost your _mind_ , Anders?”

 

“Obviously I would have waited until the timing is right,” Anders argued weakly.

 

“No,” Hawke said with a shake of his head. “Not you. Justice.”

 

“He was hosting that _thing_!” Aveline spat.

  
“And yet it was Justice influencing him. Anders wouldn’t do that.” A hand was placed on his shoulder, strong and comforting. “Am I right?”

 

Anders exhaled shakily.

 

“Do you still _want_ to do it?” Hawke asked.

 

“No.” Was that doubt in his voice?

 

“Where did you hide it?”

 

“Under my bed.”

 

“Sweet Andraste,” Hawke muttered, leaving Anders’ side to look for it.

 

“I should arrest you,” Aveline muttered behind him. “Have you thrown into the Gallows and locked away, you idiot. How could you leave it unattended?”

 

“May I remind you that I’m still suffering from partial memory loss and didn’t even remember I made it until you dragged us here?” Anders asked, voice sharp. “If you want to arrest me, go ahead, Aveline, but I _will_ fight you and I have absolutely no desire to hurt you.”

 

Aveline sighed loudly; Anders could feel her anger ebbing off and relaxed in his seat.

  
“Who’d have an interest in it, if it’s indeed gone?”

  
“An interest? A lot of people, probably. The guts to use it for what it was meant for? I don’t know.”

 

“Humor me.”

 

“Dwarves have been looking for this kind of stuff forever. Maybe Varric heard something from his sources. Maybe Darktown residents indeed broke in here and thought it was something harmless, yet valuable. Maybe the remaining members of the mage underground. I don’t know!”

 

“It’s gone,” Hawke announced loudly.

 

“I’ll find it,” Aveline said, sounding more sure than she felt. “As for you,” she addressed Anders again, “it would be better if you stayed out of my sight for a while and as far away from the Gallows as you can.”

 

“Duly noted.”

 

 

“Keep your sarcasm, apostate. It doesn’t help you, at all.”

 

“Aveline!” Hawke called after the Guard Captain, but she hurried out of the clinic as fast as she had led them there.

 

“She’s right, you know?” Anders spoke up after a moment. “I can’t blame Justice for this entirely. We formed that plan together. I was ready to _use_ you to get the ingredients by lying to you about what they are for and you would have never known. She is also right about me possibly killing innocents, had I followed through with this, because with Justice, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Without him, though…”

 

“How strong is it?” Hawke asked.

 

“Very strong. Forget the stuff that dwarf supposedly stole from the Qunari.”

 

“Is that what inspired you? When the Arishok asked for our help to find the thief and return the powder to them?”

 

“I don’t know. It might have.”

 

“Can it be neutralized?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Well, what do you know?” Hawke snapped. Anders winced at the warrior’s angry voice and chose to remain silent.

  
“I apologize,” Hawke murmured.

 

“I am the one who should apologize, Hawke, not you.”

 

“Who knew about this? Whom did you tell about your plan?”

 

“No one.”

  
“Not even the mage underground?”

 

Anders thought about that for a moment. “I believe I told Alain once that, if nothing helps, we’ll have to make sure we’re heard by enforcing more violent measures, but I have not told him anything about what I had planned. If I were to go through with this, it would be on my head. I didn’t want to drag them into this, seeing as I was doing this _for_ them. For their freedom.”

 

“I’ll find Alain, see what he knows,” Hawke said. “You should return to the estate and stay there until you hear from me. If there is something going on, the Templars are sure to search Darktown once again, following their previous lead.”

 

“I can’t just sit around and do nothing, Hawke. I am responsible for this.”

 

“Find Varric then. See if he heard anything yet. Take Fenris with you.”

 

Anders paled at the mentioning of the elf.

 

“He’ll find out, sooner or later,” Hawke pointed out. “He better hear it from your lips.”

 

“He’ll kill me,” Anders whispered.

 

“No, Anders, he will not.” Hawke was smiling when Anders looked up. “He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.”

 

With a sigh, Anders got up from his chair and grabbed his staff. “And just what makes you so sure of that, Garrett?”

 

The warrior shrugged. “Could you kill him? If Fenris came to you and admitted to having killed dozens of innocent people, whether because he’d been ordered to or because he did it out of strong faith in a cause?”

 

“No.” Anders didn’t even have to think about the answer. In all those years they had known and snarked at each other, no matter how furious he got, no matter how much of a reason Fenris gave him to simply slit his hate-spitting throat or burn him into a pile of ashes, he would have never gone that far. He wouldn’t have gone that far when they had been rivals, he Maker be damned wouldn’t now, that they were…

 

“Why?”

 

Anders paused, whirling his staff a few times. “Because I…because I care for him.”

 

“You care for him?” Hawke repeated.

 

“What were you expecting me to say?”

 

Hawke laughed at that. “To be honest, I don’t know. I just thought, the two of you…you know, finally cleared the air between you and came to terms with what it really is that draws you to each other.”

 

The mage snorted. “And what would that be, I wonder?”

 

Whatever Hawke meant to answer was cut off by a shout coming from outside. Hawke instinctively drew his sword, his stance telling Anders he was ready to attack, with no questions asked.

 

“In the name of Knight Commander Meredith Stannard, Healer, we demand that you step outside and show yourself!” a familiar voice called loudly. “You’re under suspicion of treason and aspostasy!”

 

“At least he didn’t say I am suspected to be a maleficar,” Anders muttered.

 

“Not funny,” Hawke gritted out.

 

“No? I thought it was.” Anders reached for his staff, whirling it around twice until he found the best grip on it.

 

“You’re not seriously considering to fight them?” Hawke asked. “They can take you down within moments, Anders. There’s a _reason_ you avoided them all those years.”

 

“More than _a_ reason, Hawke, trust me and we’re not going into that right now.”

 

They were interrupted by Cullen calling out once again. Muttering a string of curses under his breath, Hawke rushed outside, almost running right into Cullen, who had just been about to enter the clinic.

 

“Cullen!” Hawke greeted the stunned Templar coldly. “What’s all this tumult about?” Reaching behind his back with his free hand, he gestured for Anders to hide somewhere, as long as he was still out of the Templar’s field of vision.

 

Cullen stumbled a few steps back before straightening his back. “Champion. I have not expected to see you here.”

 

“And just what were you expecting to find?” Hawke asked, sheathing his sword.

 

“We were informed that an apostate mage is hiding down here. Further, we were informed he is involved in several mages going amiss, a group of four just this morning.”

 

“This place has been abandoned for weeks. Whoever was ‘hiding’ down here, as you say, seems to have long but left.”

 

Now it was Cullen’s turn to frown as he dared glancing past Hawke.

 

“It seems people have already raided this place as well,” Hawke continued, unfazed by Cullen trying to see _something_.

 

“And what is your business here in Darktown?” the Templar asked.

 

“I was informed by concerned citizens that someone broke into the healer’s clinic and since they have not seen him in a while, they worried for his well being.” Hawke crossed his arms. “Surely, I do not have to explain to you that the people down here regard someone caring for them without ever asking for something in return highly.”

 

“As do you,” Cullen said with a nod. “I know he is a friend of yours. Meredith just chose to overlook that, seeing how well-liked you are amongst the citizens of Kirkwall. We are also aware he helped you stopping the Qunari invasion.”

 

“And yet you are here, wanting to put him in chains.”

 

Cullen sighed at that. “Hawke, you know I am only following the orders given to me.”

 

“Turn around. Let Meredith know the man they call ‘Healer’ is long gone,” Hawke insisted.

 

“I can’t do that without any proof, Champion,” Cullen argued. “I know he’s your friend. But there are so many accusations concerning him by now, even if I did return and come up with a believable story, she’ll have all of Thedas searched if she has to.”

 

“Accusations?” Hawke’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Being the leader of the so-called Mage Underground helping mages escape from the Circle. Potentially dangerous mages, Hawke. A lot of them have never known freedom and will not be able to cope.” Cullen did look honestly concerned.

 

“Time for them to learn about it then,” Hawke argued. “What else?”

  
“The murder of Ser Alrik.”

 

Hawke’s eyes widened a fraction. “That was years ago, Cullen. The culprit was never found, nor any evidence that would tell anything about him. You can’t just go and blame an innocent man for this just because he’s your best bet!”

 

“The murder of five Templars in the Chantry as well as one tranquil mage by the name of Karl Thekla.”

 

“The only _murder_ that took place in the chantry was berefting a man of his emotions, dreams and Maker given gifts. What happened to the Templars was unfortunate, but I had given them no reason to attack me. It was one against five and they got what they deserved.”

 

Hawke’s shoulders slumped and he groaned when Anders stepped up beside him. “Damnit, Anders, don’t!” he hissed at him.

 

Cullen gave a heartfelt sigh. “You were hiding him. Hawke, you know I have to arrest you as well now.”

 

“Lay a hand on him and you’ll be sorry,” Anders said coldly. “If Meredith wants to play power games, she better expect strong resistance.”

 

Cullen regarded the mage for a moment. “You escaped from the Ferelden Circle. Several times. I remember you.”

 

“As I remember you, cowering on the ground, trapped in a prison spell cast upon you by blood mages and whimpering like a baby,” Anders retorted. “You haven’t changed one bit, you tremble at the mere hint of magic near you and yap obediently when someone barks orders at you. You and I both know Meredith doesn’t give a nug’s shit whether or not I am in the Gallows. All she does is finding leverage to use against Hawke, who is now officially competing against her for the post of Viscount.”

 

“Even if that were the case, you know the laws on apostates,” Cullen argued. Hawke noticed that the Templar was not as skitterish as he usually was.

 

“Does that law include the right to punish mages with rape or Tranquility?” Anders thrust the blunt head of his staff against the Templar’s chest. “Karl Thekla had passed his Harrowing. He was no threat to anyone. Yet someone saw it fit to make him Tranquil just because he was friends with me and exchanged letters in secret. I fail to see how that was justified in any way,” he hissed at Cullen. “There are _laws_ for that as well.”

 

Hawke grabbed Anders’ arm in a tight grip. “Don’t. Just get out of here. Now.”

 

“If he was made Tranquil, surely they had very good reasons…”

 

“Stop it!” Anders snapped and Cullen actually winced, taking a step back. “Stop trying to pretend the order of the Templars is as honorable as they insist it to be. You might be useless and a weakling, but you’re not stupid, Cullen Rutherford!”

 

“Anders!” Hawke hissed at the mage. “Stop.”

 

“You endanger your friends if you threaten the Knight-Captain or dare attacking him,” one of the other Templars spoke up. “Submit yourself to us and they shall not be harmed.”

 

Both Anders and Hawke glanced past Cullen.

  
“Keran,” Hawke acknowledged. “Gratitude is not your strong suit, is it?”

 

“Hawke helped you stay in the order, you ungrateful bastard!” Anders growled. “And now you have the nerves to threaten him?”

 

Anders’ staff began to glow, ready to cast a fireball at the group of Templars.

 

“One would think you’ve learned your lesson, seeing what _punishment_ you received in the Tower, Anders,” Cullen spoke up. “Don’t you think it’s enough? Do you really want to go through this again?”

 

Anders faltered, eyes wide as they stared at Cullen, who offered a pitying look in return.

 

“You do know Karras will stop at nothing,” Cullen added quietly. Warningly. “Ser Alrik taught him well.”

 

Something flashed in those amber eyes and Anders swung his staff with an angry shout. Hawke had the bare wits to reach out and take hold of the glowing staff before Anders did something he would most certainly regret. It was a mere act of self-preservation that had Cullen call upon his abilities, smiting Anders and Hawke to the ground before Hawke could call the Templar off it.

 

It felt like an ogre had lashed out at them. It knocked the air out of Hawke’s lungs as he was thrown to the ground by the force of Cullen’s Holy Smite, arms protectively around Anders’ slender body as they went down. The mage made a pained sound, colored with right-out fury and Hawke grunted when Anders landed heavily on top of him, grinding his bones together.

 

“Maker be damned,” Hawke groaned. “What in the _Void_ , Cullen?”

 

“Hawke?” Anders rolled over on top of him, looking at him with concern. “Are you alright?”

 

“Well, you’re kinda heavy,” the warrior gritted out. From the corner of his eyes, he saw two more Templar coming at them and pushed Anders off him. Reaching for his sword, Hawke called on his Berserk abilities and sent both Templars to the ground with one powerful strike. Blood dripped off his sword as he spun around to point it at Cullen, furious.

 

“I advice you to not risk any more of your men and _leave_ , Knight-Captain!” he told him coldly.

 

“He attacked us first,” Cullen pointed out, a disturbed look on his face. “He has given us every reason now to arrest him, Champion. You know that as well as I do. He has just _proven_ that he is dangerous.”

 

“You taunted him!” Hawke barked.

 

“Hand him over or we will have to –“ Cullen’s voice hitched when the cold steel of a sword pressed against his throat, sharp enough to cut into the skin, but not deep enough to cause serious harm.

 

“The mage is not going anywhere with you,” a low, rumbling voice informed him venomously. “Call your dogs back. _Now_.”

 

Hawke sighed in relief when he saw Fenris; not far behind the elf was Varric, Bianca ready to take down another man or two if they made a wrong move.

 

Behind Hawke, Anders finally managed to get back on his feet, surprised that mana hadn’t been drained from him at all. Still, his stomach felt terrible and his vision swam from the smite. He leaned heavily on his staff for support. “Fenris,” he breathed out. Hawke wasn’t sure if the mage sounded relieved or worried.

 

Fenris eyed Anders with concern, then growled at the Templar. “What did you do to him?” he demanded to know.

 

“Lower your sword,” Cullen whispered. “My men will attack if you kill me.”

 

“And they will join you in the Fade within moments,” Fenris promised darkly.

  
“You cannot seriously all want to forfeit your lives for a dangerous apostate mage.”

 

Again, the elf growled, his sword cutting deeper into the sensitive flesh of Cullen’s throat, eliciting a pitiful whimper. “The mage is _mine_. So is my life and I will do with it as I please. Call back your men or see yourself facing your creator.”

 

“I’d listen to him,” Hawke suggested. “Fenris doesn’t make empty threats.”

 

“Nor do you have any right to pass judgement on a Grey Warden,” Fenris added. “If you have any reservations or accusations concerning him, I suggest you contact the Warden Commander and have him take care of it.”

 

Cullen stilled for a moment, eyes on Anders. “You are…?”

 

“Conscripted by Mael Tabris, the Warden Commander. Yes,” Anders confirmed. _Not that it is still worth much_.

 

Slowly, Cullen lifted a hand and gestured at his remaining men. Keran shook his head at him. “You will do as I ordered you, Keran,” Cullen said with as much authority as he could muster with a sword against his throat. “Sheath your swords and withdraw. Return to the Gallows and wait in the courtyard for me.”

  
“Knight-Captain,” another spoke up uncertainly.

 

“Now!” Cullen barked and suddenly, the young Templar recruits weres scrambling to obey. Keran only paused to look back across his shoulders for a moment before slowly following his comrades into the shadow.

 

The moment they were out of sight, Fenris lowered his broadsword, eyes fixed on Cullen. “Apostate or not,” he spoke up again, “this mage has done this city more good than any of you will ever be able to claim to have. Hunt him again or find yourself near his clinic and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  
“Fenris.” Anders, finally having recovered, gazed at the elf in amazement and surprise.

 

“I am keeping the Hero of Ferelden in high regards,” Cullen replied, voice hoarse, “for he saved my life at the Circle in Ferelden. I still owe him for that and never had the chance to repay him. Be aware that this is the only reason I am letting your friend go this time. I cannot promise he’ll be safe forever.”

 

“Tonight is a good start,” Hawke said. “As long as your men will keep that promise as well.”

 

Cullen reached up, fingertips touching the bleeding wound on his throat.

  
“Anders?” Hawke questioned gently. “Please?”

 

Anders glowered at the Templar, but Fenris could see the hand clutching the staff tightly twitch just a little. The elf hadn’t been wrong when he’d told the mage that being a healer was his one great weakness, even if the one suffering was a Templar.

 

He reached up and grabbed a handful of Cullen’s hair before pulling his head back harshly. Cullen yelped, neck straining, eyes squeezing shut. “What in Andraste’s name…?” he protested.

 

It was enough, though. Anders reluctantly walked over, his free hand lifting as he called upon his healing magic. Cullen tried to pull away, but Fenris tightened his grip and shot him warning glance.

 

The Templar was stunned when Anders healed the wound on his throat, the cool sensation of magic comforting. “Just for the record, Cullen,” Anders said tiredly, “don’t think you deserved that.”

 

Fenris let go and gave the Templar a shove, sending him stumbling forward.

 

“Leave,” the elf told him.

 

Wordlessly, Cullen sheathed his sword and threw his heavy shield over one shoulder, putting it on his back.

 

The four of them watched Cullen walk off just as silently. Varric relaxed his arms and lowered Bianca as soon as the distance between them and the Commander was to his liking and sighed.

 

“Andraste’s _tits_ , Blondie, was that really necessary?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Anders replied quietly without hesitance.

 

“Offering yourself to the Templars on a veritable silver plate?” Hawke grunted out. “I think not. Why did you not hide away like I told you to?”

 

“And what good would that have done?” Anders asked.

 

“Mage,” Fenris spoke up quietly. “I remember what you told me about what Templars do to mages. Why take such a risk?”

 

Anders sighed loudly, glancing at each of the three men briefly. “For as long as we have known each other, maybe safe for Fenris, you guys have been protecting me. Hawke made sure I won’t be bothered, Varric kept away the Carta and misled Templars wherever he could. All of you have been short of coddling me after the cave incident which I absolutely appreciate and will admit have needed for some time.” Another sigh. “But you cannot protect me forever and I cannot ask that you risk your own lives or your freedom for me. I have been able to protect myself before meeting you all and should not be so careless to rely on it. You have protected me from every threat possible and it’s more than time that I repay you for that.”

 

Hawke frowned at the mage.

 

“So, if Hawke is threatened by a Templar for protecting or sheltering me, I will not just stand back and hope everything goes well. If I can always count on either of you to protect me, you should know what you can expect the same of me. Always.”

 

Varric’s worried features softened at that. A smile slowly spread on his face and he shook his head. “Ah, Blondie…you’re simply too much.”

 

“I had no idea that’s how you felt,” Hawke admitted. “We did not mean to treat you like a defenseless child, especially with Justice gone.”

 

“Exactly. He’s gone,” Anders confirmed with a nod. “I was good before him, I need to learn to be good without him now.”

 

“This is not over yet,” Fenris reminded. “Cullen will return with more Templars. Maybe even Meredith herself will seek out the clinic.”

 

Varric made a strangled sound. “I have no desire to see her do the same to Anders as she did to that Sareebas.”

 

Hawke had to chuckle at that. “Something tells me she won’t get the chance. You weren’t here but even I was scared of Anders for a second.”

 

Anders paled at that. “I…I apologize, Hawke, I didn’t—“

 

“Oh no, it’s alright!” Hawke said, still chuckling. “To be honest, while you always had our backs no matter what sort of trouble we got into, whether it was Arcane or Healing magic, I never actually watched you fight. It was quite…insightful, to say the least.”

 

“Oh, you missed him in Bartrand’s estate. _That_ was scary,” Varric contradicted. “I was sure he was going to take that place apart if it meant getting his elf to safety.”

 

“Enough,” Fenris snarled at the man and dwarf.

 

“Oh, come on Broody, you just proclaimed Blondie as yours, you can’t—“

 

“That’s not it,” Hawke interrupted gently and Varric turned to watch Anders storm back into his clinic, door closing loudly behind him.

 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhm...I actually have no excuse for this chapter or the two following ones.  
> Lots of angst and possible triggers ahead. Because the two decided to angst it out.

Fenris found Anders curled up in his cot – or his sorry excuse for a bed, as the elf usually took to call it – facing the wall. His staff had been carelessly dropped to the ground, near the cot. Knees drawn up and head lowered, his chin almost resting against his collarbone, Anders looked like he tried to make himself as small as possible.

 

“I sent them away,” Fenris murmured. “With the promise to make sure to take you someplace safe once you feel ready to leave.”

 

“If you want someplace _safe_ , you should stay far away from me,” Anders replied in kind.

 

Green eyes widened at that. “Why would you say such a thing?”

 

“Because it’s true, Fenris. Unless something dramatically changes, being near me is anything but safe. I’ll be hunted, I will constantly have to be on the run and hide from everyone who wants to see me dead. Not a life I’d want to burden anyone with.”

 

With a sigh, Anders slowly rolled over to look at the elf, almost expectantly.

 

“But isn’t that what you fought for all these years?” Fenris asked. “To lead a life not constantly on the run?”

 

“Obviously I haven’t done a very good job at it, seeing as my own friends have now revealed that I am _scaring_ them.”

 

The corners of Fenris’ mouth twitched and slowly, he moved toward the cot and sat down next to the mage. “Fool mage,” he chided gently. “They didn’t mean it like that. They were complimenting you.”

 

“Complimenting.”

 

“Them saying you were scary didn’t mean they were scared _of_ you, but your opponents sure had every reason to. Hawke and Varric know they do not have to be afraid of you.” Fenris placed a hand on one the blond’s legs, squeezing gently. He could feel muscles twitch beneath his touch. “You would never harm them, with or without that demon inside you. You have proven that numerous times and it took a lot of courage, standing up against Templars, knowing they are at an advantage. Because you wanted to protect your friend.”

 

“I did a poor job at _that_ , too.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“He smote us. Both of us. I had the displeasure of experiencing that before but it must have felt terrible for Hawke. And it was my fault because I let my temper get the better of me.”

 

“Hawke looked just fine when he left to dispose of the Templars’ bodies.”

 

Anders was quiet for a moment, lost in thoughts.

 

“How did you find us, anyway?” he spoke up again.

 

“One of Varric’s spies got word that Templars were on their way to your clinic. We had meant to come here and keep an eye on them, and warn Hawke and you in case they find any leading trail on your whereabouts. We did not expect to find the two of you here.”

 

Anders smiled at that. “I did not expect you to be my knight in a shining armor, either, Fenris.”

 

Fenris’ ears pinked a little at that. “You were in danger. I believe I had promised you before that I will keep an eye on you.”

 

“That you did,” the mage confirmed. “You called me yours,” he added, quieter.

 

“I—did.”

 

“Did you mean it?”

 

Fenris huffed at that. “Did you listen to anything I said to you the other night, mage?” he grumbled, removing his hand from the mage’s leg. “Or was I talking to myself?” The elf was uncomfortable.

 

Anders bit his lip. “About you having wanted me since the day we met? Yes, I did hear you.” Slowly, he sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the cot before stretching them out. “And you had me. Repeatedly. And quite spectularly that particular night, I might add.” He winked at Fenris, who bristled at him.

 

“ _Fasta vass_ , mage, that was not what I intended –“ Again, Fenris huffed. “That was not what I said.”

 

“That was quite certainly what you said, elf. My ears are just fine.”

 

“Do you really not get it or do you not want to get it?”

 

“I get that you were particularly wonderful to me that night.” Anders leaned in, putting his head on Fenris’ tense shoulder. “I get that…I have never felt so good about myself or having sex than I did that night. I get you feel protective of me and that you did not hesitate stopping Cullen short when he was threatening me and you may have saved my life earlier, indeed.” Turning his head, Anders touched his lips to the elf’s neck, one hand straying to the other’s lap, teasing, searching. “Guess I owe you again,” Anders murmured.

 

Fenris tensed even more and reached down to grab the blond’s hand before it strayed even further. “Don’t,” he said tersely.

 

Anders froze and withdrew quickly, putting as much distance between them as possible on the cot. Fenris regarded him, surprised.

 

“I guess you’re done with wanting me,” Anders said with fake cheerfulness, forcing a smile on his lips.

 

“I am not,” Fenris clarified, “but I am also not one of those people you obviously dealt with way too often in your past that I will let you _repay_ me with sexual favors.”

 

That hit home. The fake smile fled; amber eyes were a mixture of surprise, sadness and pain.

 

“I have seen it often enough when I was still a slave,” Fenris explained. “Magisters would do something nice for their newly obtained slaves in order to buy their affection and they always got what they wanted in the end. Submission. A body to use for their pleasure and the slaves let them because they felt they _owed_ their new master.”

 

Anders drew his knees up once again, arms wrapping around them. His eyes were staring at nothing in particular as they gazed ahead.

 

“It would seem we have a lot more in common than I originally thought,” Fenris concluded with remorse. “I will not ask how many times you have used your charms or your body in order to remain free or at the very least, alive, but I would have you know that I will not let you do that with me. If you do not wish to be with me, freely, if you do not find you desire me, I wish to know now and we will never speak of this, or the things I said the other night, again.” He reached over and grabbed the mage’s chin, forcing Anders to look at him. “I protected you because I wanted to, not because I was expecting something in return. And neither did I ask you to spend the night at my mansion because I was expecting you to – be willing. I just wanted to rest, assured you are safe and the only way I could see myself achieving that was having you with me for the night.”

 

 

There was a hitch in Anders’ breath. Fenris could feel him relax a little in his hold.

 

“When I said I’ve wanted you since the day we met, I did not mean just your body, mage.”

 

Another hitch, followed by Anders swallowing hard. Amber eyes stared into emerald ones, unblinking, for a long moment. Then the blond’s features softened.

 

“You mean that,” Anders murmured.

 

Fenris let his thumb caress over the mage’s cheek in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, feeling the blond lean into the touch.

 

“Everything you said…you meant it. You meant it earlier…you meant it that night…” Amber eyes slipped closed. “You meant it in the cave…” The last words were slurred and Fenris frowned at him.

  
“Anders?”

 

“Cave,” Anders slurred in response. Blood started to drip out of his nose, running over his full lips and down his chin, dripping on the fabrics between them. “Justice…”

 

Once again, Fenris felt his blood run cold.

 

 

~*~

 

The child was kneeling, arms stretched out as far as they’d go, tiny hands stroking all four cats napping in various positions on his bed, intend on giving all of them same amount of love and attention. Lady Claws-a-Lot had a rather painful way of letting someone know she was jealous or did not receive the amount of attention she required; the numerous scratches, fresh, on the boy’s pale arms being the evidence for that.

 

“Mami says spring is coming soon,” the boy told his cats with a happy smile. “We can go out again and play in the sun and watch flowers blossom, like we did last year. And you can chase butterflies and bees.”

 

Anders regarded the scene before him; the boy did not seem to notice his presence. It was weird, looking at himself, hearing himself speak in a language long forgotten – a child, happy, carefree, not understanding the recent changes, the dreams he’d had or their meaning. A little boy content to just play and speak to his cats until sunset, discovering the world around him and all its wonders.

 

“Why am I here?” he asked in a pained voice, but he received no answer. He remembered that day. The last day in this world that he’d been happy on. He heard the heavy footsteps ascending the stony stairs not far from his room, the hushed voice of his father. He could see his younger self frown, then jump when the door opened quite suddenly.

 

He’d forgotten the look of disgust on his father’s face that only ever seemed to be reserved for him. Anders felt his heart clench, just like it had all those years ago and the urge to cry, to wrap his arms around his father’s neck and beg him to please, _please_ love him again. He hadn’t meant to. He was not a monster, just a child. Why would Papa not help him understand?

 

“Is that him?”

 

A Templar stepped up behind his father, his helmet covering his entire face. The little child on the bed shrunk, not understanding what was going on. Of course, Anders remembered -- he had not been speaking Common back then.

 

“Take him away,” his father answered in Common, “before his mother finds out he’s gone. He’s a sin in the eyes of the Maker and I will no longer shelter him within my walls.”

 

_A sin in the eyes of the Maker?_ Anders was left breathless. That was what his had father called him?

 

“These men will take you someplace safe,” his father informed him in Ander. “Do not fight them and obey. You can no longer stay here.”

 

“Where am I going?” the child asked, scared. Two Templars entered the room and the kid tried to scramble away, screaming when one of them grabbed a fistful of his blond hair to keep him from running. Desperate to fight, the kid grabbed around until his little hand finally found something. It was soft, embroidered – the pillow his mother had given him for his fifth birthday.

 

“Burn his belongings as soon as he’s gone,” Papa told one of the servants that had come to his room when she’d heard the noise. The young elven maid looked at him in pure horror.

 

“Do not fight us, child, we mean no harm,” one Templar told the scared child while trying to take the pillow away from him.

 

“For Maker’s sake, Gwareth, let the child keep it,” his companion hissed. “It’s just a pillow.”

 

_That’s why they let me keep it_.

 

Anders slumped against the cold wall behind him as he watched himself being dragged away by the Templars, kicking and screaming and being admonished about it by his papa. The elven maid desperately trying to change his father’s mind about this, about delivering his own son to the Templars, only to be slapped across the face and told to do as he ordered. Neni. Her name was Neni. She had often played with him outside and tended to his needs when his parents couldn’t. She had been wonderful and Anders had loved her as much as a child could possibly love someone apart from his mother.

 

She had been the first to know.

She had taken him away after he had accidentally set that barn on fire and warned him to not tell anyone about this.

 

But Anders hadn’t told anyone about this; how had his father found out?

 

“Why am I here?” he asked again, bitterly. “Where _am_ I?”

 

**_You had to be reminded_**.

 

“Reminded of what?”

 

**_This is the world you live in. The way your life has been. The way your life will continue to be. Alone. Abandoned. Hated._ **

 

Anders swallowed hard, fists clenching.

  
“Show yourself!” he demanded angrily. “You want to kick me down, at least do it while you face me.”

 

**_I am Anders. I am Justice._ **

**_You are Justice. You are Anders._ **

 

Anders stilled.

 

**_We are Vengeance_**.

 

“I am Anders,” he confirmed. “I _was_ with Justice. I am neither him nor Vengeance.”

 

**_I am a part of you._ **

 

_No_. “You were,” Anders reminded gently. “You are no longer. _We_ are no longer.”

 

The scenery around him faded to black before he found himself in the unmistakable realms of the Fade. Chaos. A mixture of thousands of dreams and faded memories that had created this place, the Black City visible in the distance, no matter in which part of the Fade one found themselves in. Littered with restless souls, Fade Spirits and demons waiting for their chance to escape to the waking world, the world of the living, to indulge to their perversed needs and desires.

 

**_There is nothing worth continuing your pitiful existence in their world_** , the voice returned to him. **_What you believe to have will not last, just like your parents’ love did not last, did not endure, did not overcome their beliefs when they discovered their child to be a sin in the eyes of the Maker_**.

 

Anders closed his eyes. He had to be either sleeping or must have lost consciousness. It was time he willed himself to wake up.

 

**_They will not remain by your side. They will not remain loyal._ **

**_He will not remain._ **

 

_Wake up, Anders. Wake up and end this. You can do it._

 

**_I can help giving your life a meaning. A purpose. Let it not be empty and hopeless. You don’t have to be alone. I will stay with you when everyone else betrays you like they have before._ **

 

At that, Anders laughed mirthlessly. “I am not making deals with demons. I’ve learned my lesson.”

 

_Recedemus daemonem._

 

Anders willed himself to relax and concentrate on escaping the Fade.

 

_Recedemus daemonem._

 

**_I will show you that you mean nothing to the people in your life._ **

 

“You will leave them alone,” Anders murmured. “Or I’ll make sure your sorry existence ends.”

 

_Recedemus daemonem._

 

His head began to throb. Amber eyes blinked open and Anders frowned, touching fingertips to the warm slickness on his upper lip. They came away dark red and sticky.

 

**_The mage is mine_**.

 

 

~*~

 

Anders’ body convulsed violently, mouth opening in what appeared to be a silent scream.

 

Fenris had to use his entire weight to keep the mage on the cot and prevent him from sending them both to the floor. More blood flowed out of the blond’s nose and a loud, pained groan escaped his pale lips. One of his arms hit Fenris’ chest and the elf grunted, gritting his teeth in order to ignore the dull pain and keep his tight grip.

 

He was not a healer. Fenris didn’t know what to do or what had caused Anders to pass out on him in such a manner. Was Anders still injured from the cave incident and no one had noticed? Was this an after-effect of Cullen’s smite?

 

“Tell me what to do,” Fenris heard himself plead. “Anders, tell me what to do!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Recedemus daemonem – Begone, demon


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders' brain is doing yet another number on him.  
> He also has a unique talent to drive elves to despair.  
> Aka - the angsty feast continues (but Kleineganz must not worry...)
> 
>  
> 
> \--  
> EDIT:  
> I got Orana's hair color wrong...it was corrected. Thank you Kerfanna! :D

Varric glanced up from the letters he was reading when a pained groan caught his attention.

 

Hawke rushed to the cot, where Fenris still held a barely conscious Spirit Healer in his arms, smoothing away strands of blond hair from a sweaty forehead. Merrill stayed in her spot by the door.

 

They had meant to only return to the clinic briefly; Hawke had complained about a sudden headache and hoped to find a still intact potion or some herbs to cure it. Varric had not expected to find Fenris wrestling Anders to the cot and for a moment, he was worried their old rivalry had flared up again and caused them to fight; that was, until Fenris’ desperate green eyes had glanced at him and Varric had seen the blood covering Anders’ face.

 

Anders seemed to have been fighting something, judging by the way his body twisted and turned under Fenris’ and Hawke’s combined hold. Then, quite suddenly, it had stopped, allowing Fenris to relax and Hawke to leave them for a short while to fetch Merrill from the Alienage. She was the only other mage amongst them and Hawke figured she was their best bet to find out what happened.

Hawke reached for the cup of water he’d fetched earlier and carefully pressed it against Anders’ mouth. Pale lips opened instantly and the mage drank almost greedily until the cup was empty.

 

“Gave us quite the scare there, Blondie,” Varric said in greeting. “How’s that pretty head of yours?”

 

“Maker, what happened?” Anders moaned, eyes blinking open.

 _  
_ “You passed out,” Hawke said calmly. “We don’t know why yet, but Merrill might find out.”

 

The Dalish elf in question smiled and wiggled her fingers in greeting.

Anders grunted. His head was throbbing and he had the incredible desire to just sever it from his shoulders for good. He could feel his magic pulse through his veins, making him alternately feel hot and cold. He could taste blood on his tongue; Anders made a face.

  
“What happened?” he asked again, still fighting to open his eyes. It was too bright around him.

 

“We don’t know. You were talking to Fenris and suddenly you began to slur and bleeding out of your nose, then lost consciousness.”

 

Finally, Anders managed to open his eyes and glanced sideways at the elf still holding him close. Eyed the strong arms wrapped around his body in a possessive manner, like Fenris had _any_ business to be that close.

“Hands off, elf,” he grunted, “or I’ll fireball you.”

 

Fenris looked at him like Anders had just backhanded him across the face. “What?”

 

“I know elves have excellent hearing. Let go off me or you’ll be sorry.”

 

“Calm down, Blondie. It’s just Fenris.”

 _  
_ Anders gave the elf a not too gentle push and Fenris withdrew, almost falling off the narrow cot when he hurried to put some distance between them. “Since when are you so clingy?” Anders asked.

 _  
_ “I don’t understand…” Fenris muttered. “Why would you not want me to touch you?”

  
He was met with Anders’ blank stare. He seemed – uncomprehending.

 

“Did he hit his head when he fainted?” Hawke asked dubiously.

  
“No. I put him down carefully.”

Varric walked over to the cot and snapped his fingers in front of Anders’ face, making the blond flinch a little. “Hello? Anders still in there?”

 

“What in the Maker’s name are you on about?” Anders grunted.

 

“You just told your lover off. Time to get your marbles together, Blondie, you’re scaring us.”

 

“My what?”

 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawke asked, concerned.

“Meeting up at Bartrand’s estate.” Anders reached up, rubbing his aching forehead. “How…how did I end up here? What about Bartrand? Did you end up finding him? Does he require healing?”

 

Four faces went blank as they looked at him. Anders shifted uneasily on his cot. “What?” he asked in a small voice.

“That was a _week_ ago, Blondie,” Varric told the mage with a frown. “We found him and his mind was poisoned by something very dark. I had to end his life to prevent worse, because you saw no chance to heal him.”

Anders stilled.  “A week you say?” He sounded defeated.

 

Merrill finally made her way over and leaned toward Anders, who inched away.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

 

The Dalish frowned. “I dare not use any spell to check if there’s any damage inside his body. His magic is raging like a storm and I could trigger something bad.”

 

“And what’s your best guess?” Hawke asked around a sigh.

“He should sleep. Whatever happened may be connected to how he’s been after the cave collapse,” Merrill took a few steps back to put her fellow mage at ease. “His mind has been all over the place since. Maybe it had too much to take in these past few days. Let him rest and we will see how he feels afterwards.”

_Sleep_. Sleep sounded good.

 

“I think he’s passing out again,” Varric said when Anders’ eyes rolled back and slipped closed.

 

“Easy, easy…” Hawke murmured. Anders felt strong hands grabbing him, gently easing him backwards. The cot put a strain to his back but it would be good enough, he figured. He just wanted to lay down.

He was asleep within seconds.

There was a heavy silence in the room, apart from Anders’ regular, deep breaths. Varric glanced up look at Fenris, backed up against the wall, his body taut like he was ready to bolt. When Hawke took a step toward the elf, Fenris growled warningly.

“He just needs to sleep, Fenris,” Varric told him, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “It’s going to be alright.” He glanced over to Merrill. “Aren’t I right, Daisy?”

“His mind was fragile after he woke up. It had too much to process since,” the Dalish said thoughtfully. “He might be fine after he slept. Maybe the Templar attack earlier shook him a bit.”

 

“It sure shook me,” Hawke remarked dryly.

“Or he may just as well have lost his memory _again_ ,” Fenris murmured. “At least concerning the past week.” _And me_.

“I won’t lie and say it’s not a possibility that may be the case,” Merrill admitted quietly _._

“He seemed fine all this time,” Hawke murmured, shaking his head slightly. “He was coping well.”

 

“He was coping, yes. A simple mechanism of self-protection.”

“Should have kept him in bed.” The warrior sighed and offered Fenris an apologetic look. “I am sorry I didn’t listen to you. I should have never brought him along to Bartrand’s estate.”

 

“Too late for regrets now,” Fenris growled at Hawke before straightening his back and leaving the clinic hastily.

“Fenris, stay here!” Varric barked after the fleeing elf, but to no avail. The dwarf sighed heavily, then shot Hawke a dirty glare. “That’s it. Once Blondie wakes up and _hopefully_ remembers, Fenris will take over caring for him until he’s fully recovered _.”_

At least Hawke had the decency to look embarrassed.

 

“As it is,” Varric continued, “we should not remain here. Let’s take Blondie back to your estate.”

 

“What about Fenris?” Hawke asked, looking into the direction the elf had taken off to. “I know he is upset, but we should probably take him to Fenris’ place instead. As we just discovered, I’m no good as a nurse.”

 

Varric snorted in amusement. “Let’s go.”

It took until the late evening hours for Anders to wake up again.

 

There was a single candle spending the chamber light. Rogue was curled up at the foot of the bed, partially across Anders’ legs and snoring loudly in his sleep. Anders found himself snorting in amusement. This scene was kinda familiar.

Carefully extricating himself, Anders crawled out of the enormous bed, shivering when his naked feet met with the cold floor. There was murmuring coming from downstairs and he simply followed the sound. He hummed at the smell of food wafting from the kitchen. It was late, he knew, but Orana was still doing her very own kind of magic in the kitchen and Anders found he was right-out ravenous, apart from incredibly thirsty – that and he really wanted his boots before his bladder took offense to the icy cold feet.

 

He stopped halfway down the staircase, taking in the sight of the empty entrance hall and the warm fire crackling invitingly. There was a dim light coming from Hawke’s study and he could hear the warrior talking to Varric about the speech he had to give very soon. They were alone, though. Anders could not hear the lyrium song.

 

Where was Fenris?

 

The blond frowned when his scattered mind made itself known once again, throwing fragmented images at him. He gripped the banister tightly when his knees shook, threatening to give in.

  
“Stop it,” he hissed to himself. “I’m tired of this. Make sense or just be _quiet_ already.”

_Alone. Abandoned. Hated._

_He will not remain._

 

“What did I do to him?”

  
“Messere Anders?”

 

The blond glanced up, finding Orana looking at him worriedly. She was carrying a tray; the smell of soup filled his nostrils, reminding him of his empty stomach.

 

“Are you alright?” the red-haired elf asked. “You should not be up yet.”

  
“Where’s Fenris?” Anders asked her.

 

“He’s not here, Messere Anders. Messere Hawke brought you in earlier, you had passed out. There was blood all over your face so I cleaned you up and we let you sleep.” She frowned at him. “Would you like me to go and tell him you sent for him? I can leave immediately?”

 

“What…can you tell me what happened?”

 

Orana shook her head. “Messere Hawke did not say much when he brought you in, just that I should prepare the bed and tend to your face. I was just coming to check on you, see if you’ve woken up and would like something to eat.” She raised the tray a little.

 

Anders shook his head; Orana’s face fell a little at that. Usually, that was enough for Anders to pretend he changed his mind because for some reason, he could never stand Orana looking sad. Maybe it had to do with the way they had found her, in the slavers hideout. Desperate, alone, just having lost her father. Not understanding why her sad little world was suddenly falling apart.

 

“Can I do anything for you at all?”

 

She reminded him so much of Neni. Sweet, devoted Neni who had been more of a mother to him like the woman who gave birth to him. Not that his mother had been a terrible person, at all, but she had been so occupied that she couldn’t always make time for him. Anders had always figured that his memories of Neni were the reason he’d always been quite fond of elves in general.

 

Neni. He hadn’t thought of her in so long. Anders frowned. Wrong, he thought. He hadn’t _remembered_ her at all, for a very long time; even the memory of him being dragged away from his home had been blurry at best ever since…

 

“Messere Anders?”

 

“I wanna go home,” he murmured.

 

Orana frowned at him. “I don’t think it would be good if you returned to your clinic, all alone. Messere Hawke said it was not safe there.”

 

Anders shook his head. “No. I want to go home. Where are my boots?”

 

“By…the front door? Messere Anders!”

 

He stalked off in search of his boots, followed closely by the servant, who was still carrying the tray.

 

“Messere, please, you should return to bed,” she pleaded with him, the dishes on the plate clinking as she followed on his heels. “Messere Hawke will be so mad if I let you go.”

 

“He won’t be,” Anders assured her. Finally finding his boots, he slipped into them, not caring to lace them up. “Hawke is a good man. He’ll be mad at _me_ , not you.”

 

“Please, stay. Return to bed. Tell me what you need and I will make sure you get it. You’re in no condition to go anywhere.” She sounded scared. For him.

 

Anders couldn’t help but smile gently as he turned around and took the tray from the elf. He put it on a small table near the door, the reached for the blond elf to pull her into a hug. “Never change,” he murmured into her hair, still smiling.

 

Orana shyly returned the hug, not quite sure what was expected of her. She felt so tiny in his embrace, so fragile.

  
“Please, Messere?” Orana tried again, her voice muffled against his chest. “Please, _please_ go back to bed.”

 

“Orana?”

 

Anders released the anxious elf at the sound of Hawke’s voice.

 

“Over here, Messere,” Orana called out. She looked relieved. Had he scared her that much?

 

Hawke’s head poked around the corner; he frowned when he spotted the mage.

  
“Anders?” he asked. “When did you get up?”

 

“A few minutes ago.”

 

“He wants to go home,” Orana told Hawke. “I was trying to make him go back to bed.”

 

“Home?” Hawke stepped closer and reached up to try and sort the mess that was Anders’ hair. “Anders, do you remember what happened at the clinic earlier?” he asked, concerned.

 

“If you’re talking about the Knight-Captain paying us a visit, yes, I remember,” Anders replied sourly.

  
“And afterwards?” Hawke pressed on. “Do you remember passing out? Or coming to and not having any memory of the past week?”

 

“Or threatening to fireball Fenris if he doesn’t take his hands off you?” Varric piped up from somewhere behind Hawke. “You ain’t going anywhere near that clinic, Blondie. You’re going back to bed. Now.”

 

At Anders’ truly lost look, Hawke sighed, then proceeded to tell the mage about what happened between the more than unpleasant visit by the Templars and waking up at Hawke’s estate. Even in the dim light, they could see Anders pale.

 

“It’s good to see you’re back to yourself again, though,” Hawke finished his report. “And in order to make sure it stays that way, you will go back to bed now or Maker help me, I will _drag_ you back and keep watch all night long if I have to, if that’s what it takes to make sure you stay put.”

 

“You _do_ remember the past week, don’t you?” Varric asked.

 

“Something must have happened when…” Anders frowned. “The smite.”

 

“Merrill says the smite we received from Cullen is one possibility for what happened,” Hawke agreed. “I had a pretty bad headache myself, all of a sudden.”

 

Amber eyes squinted at him.

 

“I am fine now,” the warrior assured. “But I am not the one still recovering and with his mind all over the place.”

 

“It’s not – that’s not quite the truth,” Anders argued gently. “It’s not all over the place. I thought so myself and it probably was for a little but…”

 

“But?” Varric inquired.

 

“I think something is _blocking_ certain memories. Old and new. At first, I thought my subconsciousness is trying to protect me from further trauma, like Merrill had suggested before, but by now, I believe something is delibaretely doing so.” Anders sighed. “Which would explain why I woke up earlier, not having any memory of the past week and now I don’t remember what happened a couple hours ago!”

  
“Easy, Blondie,” Varric said soothingly. “Here, let’s make a deal: you will be a good little mage and return to bed and Hawke and I will sit down and try to come up with a plan to fix that mess your head is at the moment. I am sure we can find someone who can help you, if that’s what it truly is. Something screwing with your brain, other than, you know, _death_.”

 

Anders paused at that, suddenly recalling something he’d once read in one of those many anatomy books he called his own and that best remained hidden if he didn’t want to be accused to be a maleficar, after all. Suffocation was known to cause damage to the brain, cells dying and remaining dead even if the person in question managed to survive. He _had_ suffocated in that cave, drowning on his own blood and fluids that had filled his ribcage over the span of hours. Was that the explanation? Was he wrong about something blocking his memory? Had part of his brain, the part that had kept these memories, died?

 

“Blondie?”

 

A brain could recover, though, if presented with intense stimulation. The Smite, it had triggered _something_ , Anders realized. It had brought back a memory long forgotten, or fuzzy at best, of the day his father had handed him over to the Templars because he deemed him a _sin in the eyes of the Maker_ – before destroying any evidence of ever having had a son in the first place. Of Neni, protesting against and being punished for it.

 

“Blondie!”

 

Anders snapped out of his thoughts and glanced down at Varric. “Sorry. I was just…”

 

“Brooding? I wonder if Fenris is rubbing off on you in more than one way,” Varric replied teasingly.

 

“Remembering,” Anders countered, though there was the faintest of blush on his cheeks now. “I was…remembering.”

 

Hawke hummed. “You can do that in bed as well. Come on.” He nodded his head into the general direction of his chamber.

 

“No, Hawke. I want to go home. Please.”

 

The warrior sighed. “Anders, I will _not_ let you go back to that clinic.”

 

“Maker damnit, Hawke!” Anders exclaimed. “I don’t want to go back to the clinic, I want to go _home_!”

 

“Alright,” Varric interjected with a smirk. “Calm down, Blondie. I will take you home.”


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humor, Angst, Fenris doing Spring cleaning, fluff and sexy times...we have reached the end of angsty feast (for now).  
> Also, a little eye candy at the end - Anders and Fenris from my DA2.  
> \-----

Anders and Varric walked slowly, side by side, through Kirkwall’s dark and – mostly – empty Hightown streets. A few soldiers crossed their paths, drunk off their ass and singing loudly. They slurred so bad, the two of them could barely make out the words, though.

 

It was chilly tonight and Anders cursed himself for not thinking of getting his feathered coat before leaving Hawke’s estate. He’d wanted to leave immediately, not having the patience to gather his belongings first, so Hawke had promised Orana would bring them in the morning, along with something nice for breakfast.

 

The mage was relieved that Varric, at least, had managed to understand what he’d been trying to say when he’d demanded to go ‘home’.

 

“I did not make much sense back there, did I?” he asked quietly. The throbbing in his head had subsided by now; his nose still slightly sore from bleeding so much but he would take care of that in the morning, once he could concentrate on using magic. He had a feeling casting any sort of spell tonight would have a very non-pleasant side effect.

 

“You did and you didn’t,” Varric said with a smirk. “I wasn’t aware what you were trying to say until you insisted your clinic is not what you meant by home.” His steps were heavy. The dwarf was as tired as Anders and the mage felt terrible for making a scene so bad that his friend had felt compelled to walk him to Fenris’ mansion although he was exhausted.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You need to stop apologizing, Blondie.”

 

Anders snorted. “More like I need to stop giving reason to apologize for something. I’m a burden to all of you since that accident at the cave. I’m not used to be the one that’s taken care of. It’s usually the other way round.”

 

“Indulge yourself a little, Blondie. And know you’re not a burden at all. You saved the life of every single one of us more times than we can count, despite being constantly exhausted from working in your clinic at all hours, barely sleeping or eating.” Varric shook his head with a sigh. “Andraste’s sweet bosom, who knows how much we added to your current state, thanks to being so ignorant in the past.”

 

“You weren’t ignorant,” the blond argued. “Sweet Maker, Varric, never think that, please. That I’ve looked so exhausted most of the time was not only due to working so hard.”

 

“No. I guess hosting a Fade spirit that’s eating away at you and your personality is quite exhausting as well.”

 

Anders huffed out a laugh. “You have no idea. With Justice gone, I am aware of so many things concerning my body now, I just really want to kick myself in the ass for having been so stupid. I berated Merrill about making deals with demons and argued that joining with Justice was not the same but really, who am I kidding?”

 

“Not me,” Varric quipped, making the mage chuckle. “You’re alright, though, yes? Physically, I mean? No damage from losing that spirit of yours?”

 

“Other than some after-effects of malnourishment that I am slowly trying to get rid of? No.”

 

“Good.”

 

Varric came to a halt, looking at Anders expectantly. “Well, here we are!” he announced.

 

Anders let his gaze travel up the front of the run-down mansion. It lay in complete darkness and was even more uninviting at nights. He had never noticed before. No wonder Kirkwall’s residents were spooked by it.

 

“Will he talk to me?” he asked his dwarven friend.

 

“He’ll be relieved you’re back,” Varric assured. “He’ll also be grumpy but then again, Fenris always is. The two of you have to learn the ropes of being in a relationship and that does take time.”

 

Anders pursed his lips at that.

 

“You’re both still learning to be free. To have something that only belongs to yourself. You’re shedding skin, like a snake,” Varric continued. “Or break out of your cocoon, like a butterfly, whichever image suits you better. Fenris is learning that not all mages are monsters, like he’s always thought. And you…” He looked Anders up and down, expression thoughtful.

 

“What about me?”

 

“Well…you are learning that it doesn’t have to be just a game. I know you have always refrained from investing too many emotions, to get attached to someone, especially since losing Karl because of it.”

 

Amber eyes darkened at that.

 

“But you see, not every story has to have a sad ending, Blondie. There are happy endings, too. Your happy ending may just as well be brooding about behind these walls if you are brave enough to reach out for it.”

 

The mage chuckled. “So poetic, Varric. Really.” He sighed.

 

Varric shrugged, offering Anders a toothy grin, before he reached out and slowly pushed open the door. It didn’t make a sound at all as it gave way to the dusty entrance hall.

 

“Hmm,” Varric made when there was no sight of Fenris; usually, the elf would guard the door, ready to strike down any intruder, because his sensitive ears would alert him to someone in front of the mansion.

 

 

Anders peeked inside – and blinked.

 

The floor was cleared and clean. He was so used to being greeted by rotting corpses, it was the first thing he noticed missing. That and the mushrooms. What pieces of broken furniture had been scattered across the hall and the stairs were now piled up in one of the corners, the smell of soap hanging heavily in the thick air. Varric spotted a bucket and a few dirty cloths right next to the piled up clutter. His eyebrows rose.

 

A small fire crackled in the before unused fireside, warming up the place. The paintings on the wall were still crooked and asked to be adjusted – or to be taken down because, if Varric was honest, they were distasteful and so very Tevinter, he doubted Fenris would want to keep them forever.

 

“Interesting,” he stated quietly. “Broody seems to be Spring cleaning.”

 

Anders carefully entered the place and looked around for signs of the elf’s whereabouts. Something shattered and Varric heard the familiar string of Tevene curses that never failed to make him smile.

 

“Hey, Broody!” he called out, making Anders jump. “Isn’t it a little too late to be cleaning?”

 

Naked feet hurried up stairs, more curses reaching the dwarf’s ear. He grinned when he saw Fenris emerge from the basement, clad in leggings and a loose-fitting tunic, green eyes wide with surprise when they spotted the dwarf.

 

“Glad to see you’re tidying up finally, though,” Varric continued. “The place sure needs it.”

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Varric, then, slowly, let his gaze travel over to Anders’ tense form.

  
“Mage,” he greeted darkly. Anders lowered his gaze.

 

“Blondie here refused to stay in bed and demanded to go home,” Varric explained, still grinning. “I decided to drop him off before calling it a night.”

 

“ _Home_?” Fenris huffed. “You must be really tired, Varric, if you mistake a Hightown mansion for a Darktown clinic.”

 

“Afraid you’re the one making a mistake here, Broody,” the dwarf countered. “Blondie said specifically he wants to go home, not back to his clinic.” He gestured around. “Well, here we are. And it’s high time for prickly elves, guilty-feeling mages and meddling dwarves to sleep. I bid you goodnight, my friends!” With a chuckle and wave of his hand, Varric trotted out of the mansion, closing the heavy door behind himself pointedly.

 

Slowly, Anders looked up, finding Fenris still glaring at him. A familiar nervousness bubbled up inside him, the very same that always caused him to babble, charm and awkwardly laugh himself out of uncomfortable situations – or, sometimes, make people have pity with him and just leave it be, whatever it had been that made them upset with Anders in the first place. Tonight, he found he did not have the energy for it and neither would it work with Fenris. A lesson learned well over the years of knowing the Tevinter elf.

 

Whenever faced with a situation he couldn’t charm himself out of, though, Anders remembered something Karl had once told him, in the aftermath of a very heated argument that had Anders act like a kicked puppy around the older mage and trying to sweet talk him into not being angry with him anymore, where a honest apology had been required.  _Sometimes_ , Karl had told him,  _actions speak louder than words_. For Anders, young and admittedly still somewhat childish, it had been an important lesson and he had made amends by actions speaking for his regrets.

 

Without a word, Anders moved across the entrance hall and dragged his tired body upstairs, all under the watchful gaze of a pair of emerald green eyes. Fenris didn’t follow until Anders was already in his chambers, toeing his boots off and making short work of his pants. He wordlessly slipped into Fenris’ bed and hugged the elf’s pillow close, inhaling his familiar, comforting scent as he drew up his knees, curling up into a ball, not unlike a child in distress, and closed his eyes. He could hear the soft padding of bare elven feet stop by the door, could feel Fenris’ eyes boring into him.

 

After a long moment of heavy silence, there was a barely audible sigh before Fenris moved closer, pulling up the blankets and covering Anders’ body with them.

 

~*~

 

Fenris gently kicked the door in front of him open and glared into the dark room ahead.

 

Danarius’ bedroom. The master bedroom of the mansion. Fenris had spent countless nights just guarding that door in the past or lurk in the shadows, near the bed, while his master slept or used one of his body slaves in ways Fenris did not dare to remember. He could still hear the muffled screams and sobs in his dreams sometimes, remembered the sickly sweet smell of blood. Whenever he’d woken up from such a dream, he wondered how he’d never been aware of the possibilities in these situations; it would have been easy, putting an end to Danarius back then, distracted by pleasure or sleep. Just slit his throat. But then, Fenris remembered he used to pride himself with being what Danarius had made him. Proud to serve such a powerful magister.

 

That very same magister who’d failed defending himself against mere mortals, against the weapon he himself had created. Had faltered, even, at the spells cast by the Spirit Healer now asleep in Fenris’ bed. Had it been a one on one battle between Danarius and Anders, Fenris had no doubt about who would have won.

  
Danarius was pathetic and there had never been any reason to be proud of being Danarius’ bodyguard, a realization that both had helped Fenris overcome the final boundaries of his enslavement and made him feel ashamed for giving Danarius so much power over him in the first place.

 

With a growl, Fenris stalked into the bedroom. Drew curtains open to let pale moonflight flood it before lighting a few candles and getting the fireside ready. The room looked untouched, like it had just been cleaned and dusted, awaiting the magister’s return. Fenris took a sniff on the bedding, snarled when he caught that familiar scent and tore them off, gathering the pile of blankets, covers and pillows in his arms and removed them from the room entirely.

 

The pile ended up on top of the pile of clutter in the entrance hall, now waiting to be fed to the flames.

 

Once back in the bedroom, Fenris opened the window and inhaled the cool night air deeply. He could smell salt from the sea and rain, dark clouds gathering at the horizon once again. Autumn was coming.

 

He spent a good half hour searching the mansion. He had always been a bodyguard, never a servant; he didn’t know where the servants kept beddings or clean covers. It had already taken him almost an entire day to find the pantry, two days after he’d settled in the mansion. Fenris figured he could blame that on him being drunk at the time, too.

  
Eventually, a room on the first floor, in the far back of the mansion, offered what he’d been looking for. He inspected the extra beddings and picked the ones not dirty or ruined by insects. They smelled a little dusty, but he prefered that over having Danarius’ nauseating scent overwhelming his senses.

 

He had to go twice, carrying two thick blankets, two pillows and the needed covers upstairs but eventually, he found himself making the bed just when the clock of the Chantry Tower struck midnight. Fenris paused when he arranged the pillows and discovered a portrait of Danarius hanging on the wall above the bed, previously hidden by the curtains of the canopy bed and the shadows they cast. He practically ripped it off the wall and considered putting his gauntlets back on just so he could tear it apart, but then just brought it to the pile in entrance hall; Danarius’ spare clothes suffered the same fate once Fenris worked on clearing out the ornamented closet.

 

Once there was nothing left to clear out or throw away, Fenris sat on the freshly made bed and sighed. Anger and disappointment had driven him on for hours and now he was exhausted. After he’d fled the clinic and the look on Anders’ face bordering on disgust, he’d returned to the mansion, paused in the entrance hall and taken out his fury on the state of the place. He had thought he’d end up destroying it further but instead found himself tidying up, remembering Anders’ comment on the state of the place when he’d taken the mage here after their visit to Bartrand’s estate.

 

If he couldn’t have the mage, Fenris figured he could at least have something a  _free_  man should have – a home. A habitable home. A place a free man could invite his  _friends_  to. A place a free man could bring a partner to spend the night at without having to make excuses about its poor state or having to explain why he never cared to live in something better than a veritable rat hole or called nothing of worth his own save for the copious amount of coin he’d saved over the years and hid in a safe place.

 

If he so desired, which Fenris knew he did not.

 

Rain started to fall outside. Fenris’ sensitive elven ears could hear thunder roll in the distance. A strong gust of wind carried salty air into the bedroom, washing away the smells that had bothered Fenris earlier completely. The candles flickered around them as did the flames in the fireside, the curtains of the bed wafting around them. The first struck of lightning lit up the entire room, the thunder following strong enough to make the mansion’s walls vibrate.

 

Fenris blew out the candles before leaving the room, peeling off his tunic on his way down the hall. It was dirty, sweat-soaked. He’d found it earlier and figured it would do while he took the place apart, not wanting to risk damage to his armor. It had a few holes already and felt scratchy against his skin.

 

Sore muscles flexed, a shiver running down Fenris’ spine when the cold draft caressed over his warm skin. Fenris dropped the ruined tunic near the door to his room and peeked inside.

 

Anders seemed fast asleep, still in the same position, curled up like a scared child. His hands clung to the pillow like it was the most precious thing in the world, face half-buried into it. Fenris wrinkled his nose; how could the mage possibly enjoy sleeping like this? Fenris had slept on this pillow while he had tossed and turned in the throes of his nightmares, perspired into the fabrics of the pillowcase, cried into them when the nightmare had been particularly bad. Probably drooled on it, too, he admitted to himself, the tips of his pointed ears turning red with embarrassment.

 

He leaned against the doorframe, considering the sleeping mage. He wasn’t sure what he’d call the  _thing_  between Anders and him, for the time being but he wondered if it would continue to be like the tide – Anders feeling drawn to him, only to retreat once again, over and over. Had the cave incident really broken the mage that much? Would it have been merciful, letting him die instead, if they had known Anders would end up like this?

 

No, Fenris thought. He couldn’t have. Even if Anders was damaged for good, there was still enough of the mage left and maybe, just maybe, Fenris would learn to deal with their situation, learn not to feel pain whenever Anders pulled back, knowing he’d return, eventually.

 

Still…

 

“Why can’t I …  _keep_  you, mage?” he murmured.

 

As if to respond, Anders murmured something incoherent and buried his face further into Fenris’ pillow, inhaling deeply.

 

The elf’s stomach chose that moment to remind him he hadn’t actually had a decent meal all day. It rumbled loud enough that, for a moment, Fenris worried it would wake the mage, but Anders didn’t stir. His cheeks joining his ears in the blushing, he quickly went downstairs and made his way to the larder.

 

There wasn’t much left, reminding Fenris he really had to pay the market a visit very soon as he chewed on a piece of stale bread, his jaw joints protesting against the hard task that proved to be. He trudged back up the stairs, casting a quick glance at the fireside in the entrance hall that had almost gone out by now. It was noticeably warmer in the room, though and Fenris found he kind of liked that.

 

He paused by Danarius’ former study room and glanced inside just as lightning struck once again, illuminating the room. Fenris’ gaze fell on the heavy armchair and a fond smile stole itself on his lips. That armchair now harbored memories of a night Fenris was sure to never forget for as long as he lived. The memory of something so pure and hard to put into words. The blanket Anders had brought down with him that night was thrown over the back. Fenris hadn’t wanted to move it; he’d rather replaced the one on his bed.

 

Five minutes later found Fenris grunting, his already sore muscles protesting against the continued strain as the elf slowly dragged the armchair out of the study and into the entrance hall. He winced when the feet of the chair scraped over the tiled floor, the sound echoing through the mansion.

  
“Fasta vass, stop being so heavy,” Fenris growled at the armchair.

 

“Fenris?”

 

The elf froze, his ears instantly growing hot, twitching nervously. Embarrassed, Fenris looked up to find Anders standing at the top of the staircase, still only clad in his shirt which was barely long enough to cover his private parts, crinkled from having been slept in. Blond hair tousled adorably, sleepy-eyed, those long, pale legs -- Fenris realized that he wouldn’t mind seeing  _that_  every day for the rest of his life.

 

Anders was…simply beautiful.

 

“What…are you doing?” the sleepy mage asked, confused.

 

Fenris cleared his throat. “I am…moving that chair, mage.”

 

“I figured as much but… _why_  are you moving it? In the middle of the night, too.”

 

“I –,” Fenris glanced at the armchair, ears growing even hotter. Traitorous elven ears – may they be cursed! “I happen to be very  _fond_  of that chair and did not wish for it to remain in Danarius’ old study. I decided it would be more to my liking if I place it in front of the…fireside.”

 

“You – wait,  _what_?” Anders blinked owlishly at him.

 

“Return to bed, mage. Forgive me for waking you.” Fenris growled. He couldn’t remember ever having felt more embarrassed in his life than he did right now.

 

A sound reached his burning ears that he’d never heard before, at least not coming from the mage.

 

Anders was – laughing. No, that wasn’t quite right. The mage was  _cackling_. Loudly. Daring to look up once again, Fenris found Anders holding on to the balustrade, leaning over it as he cackled, shoulders shaking.

 

“…Mage?”

 

That only made it worse. Fenris could see tears gathering in Anders’ eyes that were still trained on the elf and the armchair he’d been moving. Anders forced himself to take a few deep breaths, one hand wiping at his wet cheeks.

 

“ _Oh_ , Fenris,” he chuckled and there was such a fondness in the way he said the elf’s name, Fenris felt something warm unfurl inside his stomach. He huffed, unable to hold back a wide smile in reaction to Anders’ laughter.

 

“So glad to amuse you, Anders,” he said around a chuckle of his own.

 

The mage took a moment to collect himself before descending the long staircase. He was still smiling widely and the brightness in his eyes revealed that he was doing his best not to start laughing again.

 

“It looks heavy,” he offered once he’d reached the elf and the offending armchair.

 

“I would like to believe that’s a good thing, considering…” Fenris coughed awkwardly. “The… _ride_  we gave it.”

 

Anders snorted, eyes squeezing shut when he once again fought laughing. Gathering his wits anew, the mage reached out and took the elf’s hands into his, prying them away from the armchair.

 

“May I make a suggestion?” he asked.

 

“You may.”

 

“Leave that monstrous thing for now. I will help you put it wherever you want, in the morning.” Anders tugged Fenris close. “Let’s go to sleep,” he murmured. “Please?”

 

Fenris let the fingers of one hand entwine with Anders’, squeezing gently. “Come with me, mage. I wish to show you something.”

 

 

He felt nervous, the moment they entered the bedroom Fenris had finished preparing mere moments ago. The scent of rain and salt was pure bliss to his senses; the flames in the fireside had defied the assault of strong wind gusts, the crackling a comforting sound.

 

Anders glanced around curiously, the hint of a smile on his lips when he saw the huge bed.

 

“This used to be Danarius’ bedroom,” Fenris explained. “I haven’t been in here since the last time we had stayed at Kirkwall, yet decided to…clear it out earlier.”

 

“It’s certainly an improvement to what you have called your bedroom up until now,” Anders agreed. “So…you’re really doing it, aren’t you?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Claiming this place as your own.” Anders smiled gently at him. “Make it your home.”

 

“Not only my home, mage. I…” Fenris paused. “No matter. We shall sleep. It’s been a long, exhausting day.”

 

Anders pulled the elf close again, lowering his head to allow his lips to brush against Fenris’. “I apologize for what happened,” he murmured. “I…got lost. I haven’t meant to push you away in such a manner.”

 

“Hush,” Fenris whispered. “Though I would ask you to try…try to stop leaving me all the time, mage.”

 

Anders hummed in agreement, burying his nose into Fenris’ hair. “You smell so good,” he whispered.

 

“That would explain why you were clutching my pillow and attempted to suffocate.”

 

Another hum; Fenris could feel the smile on the mage’s lips rather than see it.

  
Cool hands caressed over his torso, muscles taut, twitching under the touch.

 

“You’ll be sore, come morning,” the mage observed.

 

“I am sore now. Sleeping in a comfortable bed might help.”

 

The same cool hands travelled lower, slipping under the waistband of the elf’s leggings, tugging in a playful manner. Fenris hesitantly reached down to free himself of them, kicking them aside while Anders pulled his shirt off. It joined the leggings on the floor and the mage once again took Fenris’ hands, pulling him to the bed.

 

Fenris stifled a groan when he climbed on it, his legs protesting against the movement.

 

“Come here,” Anders whispered as he lay back against the pillows, the cool air causing goosebumps to break out all over his body. Slowly, Fenris moved to lean over the mage, only to be pushed down gently until he came to rest at the other man’s side.

 

Fenris flinched when Anders’ hands began to glow. The mage let his magic retreat in an instant.

 

“Fenris?”

 

“Don’t…” The elf told himself to relax. “You know I don’t…”

 

“Fenris.” One of Anders’ hands cupped his chin, forcing the elf to look at him. “I will learn to stop running away,” he murmured, “if you learn to trust me. You  _know_  I would never harm you.”

 

Fenris glanced at his markings, glowing faintly in the dark. He nodded at Anders and watched the mage call on his magic once again. The touch of cool hands on his body, healing magic seeping through his skin, it was comfortable. Fenris allowed his eyes to slip closed as he gave into the sensation of Anders touching his body, caressing, massaging, taking aware the soreness in his muscles; replacing it with pleasure. Their mouths found each other blindly and Fenris reached out, reached for his mage and pulled their bodies together.

 

Lips parted to grant access, legs entwined in order to get closer, even closer still as hands explored, discovered, teased and stroked, eliciting whimpers, moans, pleas.

 

When Fenris fell asleep, it was with the mage’s sweat-slick body in his arms, Anders’ head resting comfortably on his chest, blond hair teasing over Fenris’ sensitive skin where it splayed. One of Anders’ arms was wrapped around his middle, holding on tight, their legs still entwined. The mage was already asleep, completely at ease when Fenris’ eyes fell closed, himself filled with a peacefulness he hadn’t known before tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s15.photobucket.com/user/seasidh/media/fenders_small_zpslata1ncx.jpg.html)


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Meredith are facing each other, at last - and packed with a lot of malice and protectiveness.  
> Fenris gets to know Anders' new "side".  
> Kirkwall welcomes an unexpected guest.

“You’re not seriously considering to go dressed like _that_ , Garrett, are you?”

 

Hawke frowned at the disapproving look on Anders’ face and the eyebrow Fenris lifted for good measure – and in support of his mage.

 

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” he grumbled. “I _am_ a noble, I am supposed to dress up for this sort of occasion and these happen to be my best pants, tunic and coat.”

 

“I’m glad you realize you’re not wearing your best boots,” Varric said around a grin. Hawke scowled at him.

 

“You’re facing the Knight-Commander in the Viscount’s Keep today,” Anders pointed out. “She’ll be armored, armed and certainly not coming alone, apart from the fact that, by now, she probably wants to see you dead sooner than later. You have absolutely _no_ protection on you, Garrett and even though I am an _excellent_ healer, mind you, I can’t do miracles.” He gestured at Hawke, face still reflecting disapproval. “She guts you or cuts your head off, I can’t do a thing. At least, not in time.” Anders paused. “Most _certainly_ not when your head is no longer attached to your neck.”

 

“You really think she’d go that far, in front of pretty much all of Kirkwall’s residents?” Hawke asked doubtfully. “Even she can’t be that insane.”

 

“I don’t trust her at all.”

 

“Because she’s a Templar.”

 

“Because she is a _bitch_ , Hawke!” Anders growled. “ _And_ a Templar, yes.”

 

“Mage,” Fenris murmured, “calm yourself.”

 

“Yes, please leave my estate in one piece,” Hawke said with a sigh. The horrified look on Anders’ face made him regret saying that instantly. “It was a _joke_ , Anders!”

 

Varric chuckled, watching the scene in front of him from his rather comfortable spot on one of Hawke’s sofas. “You three deliver material for comedies, I tell ya.”

 

“What, you giving up writing positively obscene sex novels, Varric?” Anders teased.

 

“I put them on hold. I need inspiration. Hope you won’t mind me stopping by some night, you and Fenris would surely be an enormous inspiration.”

 

Fenris shot a the dwarf a dirty look. “If I should find you in my mansion one night while I am intimate with the mage, Tethras, you will lose your hands.”

 

“Does he always talk like that?” Varric asked Anders.

 

The blond shrugged and smiled. “It’s Fenris. One of us has to be cultivated, right?”

 

“I am not sure if you just complimented or insulted me, mage,” Fenris growled. His annoyed features softened the moment amber eyes locked gaze with his. Even from his spot a few feet away, Varric could see the silent laughter dancing in them.

 

“Fool mage,” Fenris muttered fondly. Anders’ smile widened.

 

“Prickly elf.”

 

A huff was the answer.

 

“Okay, back to _me_ , because I am totally the center of attention today,” Hawke said with a dramatic sigh. “So, you suggest I actually wear…I don’t know. My armor?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I will keep an eye out for you Hawke,” Fenris promised, “but much like the mage, I can’t do miracles and we have no idea what awaits us.”

 

“A seriously pissed off Meredith, I hope,” Anders said cheerfully.

 

“You will stay in the background,” Fenris told the mage. “She knows who you are and _what_ you are and where that bitch is, Cullen will be too.”

 

“Ah, Cullen.” Hawke looked thoughtful for a moment. “He might get into serious trouble because of us.”

 

“And you care about that?” Anders asked in disbelief.

  
“Hey. He did leave us be.”

 

“Yes, because _someone_ threatened to cut his throat with a rather big knife,” the blond pointed out.

  
“It’s a _sword_ , mage.”

 

“ _Thank_ you, Fenris. I was not aware of that.”

 

Varric barked out a laugh and finally slid off the sofa, shaking his head at the three of them. “Much as I’d like to keep watching the three of you, we’ll run late if you keep up the bickering. Hawke, in order to prevent Blondie from fussing over you like a mother hen and Fenris from stressing himself so much, watching out for you, and possibly develop a serious heart condition, I suggest you go and indeed dress in something more, uh…sturdy? Aveline’s waiting for us and you know how she gets.”

 

“And _arm_ yourself, for Maker’s _sake_!” Anders demanded when Hawke trotted back to his chamber dutifully, desperately wishing he had never agreed to this.

 

 

There had never been so many people on Kirkwall’s streets, Hawke thought, when they finally left his estate. He’d quickly cleaned his armor before putting it on, his sword a comfortable weight against his hip and leg.

 

They were lined up all the way to the Gallows and the Viscount’s Keep. Hawke felt their eyes on him when he passed them; behind him, Varric seemed to greet pretty much everyone by their name. The dwarf had obviously not been lying when he said he knew _everyone_ in Kirkwall. Varric’s friendly greetings and small talks where underlined by hushed whispers at the sight of Fenris and Anders, walking behind Varric, the elf occasionally giving Varric a push to keep him moving when he seemed to linger here and there. Of course, Fenris was very exotic-looking and Anders was pointedly wearing his staff on his back and not clad in the robes mages usually received for wear in the Circle, assuring everyone immediately that he was _not_ a Circle mage and it didn’t take much to figure out what else he _could_ be then.

 

A lot also greeted the mage as he passed them by, still remembering and devoted to their Healer, even though he had not returned to his clinic yet. Hawke wasn’t sure the mage ever would.

 

 

Fenris stepped up next to him as soon as they reached the alley leading up to the Keep. Hawke hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped walking until Fenris threw him a questioning look.

 

“Hawke?”

 

“I’m not a good politician,” Hawke murmured.

 

“You’re not chickening out, are you?” Anders asked from behind him.

 

“May I remind you that I didn’t _ask_ for this, Anders?”

 

The blond’s face fell at that. Varric mentally prepared for yet another argument about politics, Meredith being a bitch, Templars being abusive bastards and mages being treated like garbage, _all_ things Hawke could put a stop to.

 

Instead, Anders sighed. “If you don’t want to do it, Hawke, by all means…let’s go back home and forget about it.”

 

Hawke spun around, eyes wide in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  
“I am sorry I pushed the matter,” Anders said quietly. “I can be pretty manipulative if I want to be and I _know_ you can never say no to a friend. So, if that’s why you agreed to go through with this and not because you are convinced you _can_ do it – let’s end it, right here, and go back home.”

 

“You weren’t the only one, mage,” Fenris spoke up. “We all encouraged this. We agreed that Hawke is the best option.”

 

“But I am the one who brought it up and kept forcing it on him, sitting in his home and thinking up a speech,” the blond pointed out. “And I cannot claim it was not partly for very egoistic reasons.”

 

Hawke chuckled at that. “Do you think _anyone_ that wants to see me as the next Viscount does _not_ have ulterior motives, Anders? Some honorable, some less so. It’s how nobles think and how politics work.”

 

“I know that,” the mage muttered.

 

“Your reason was being able to live in peace. Obviously, while I do not argue that you indeed wish Kirkwall all the peace it can possibly get, you worry about yourself, about being a mage and ending up locked away in the Gallows one day, if there’s no one to protect you from it. Merrill is hoping for better conditions concerning the elves in the Alienage, Varric for better connections to Kirkwall’s high society. Isabela probably hopes for refuge, next time she pisses off an entire nation by stealing something of spiritual worth to them.” Hawke shrugged and gestured around. “That’s how it works. I’ve been around here long enough to realize that without you feeling guilty for letting _your_ ulterior motives get the better of you and neither did I expect you not to have any, Anders.”

 

Anders looked like a scolded child, shoulders sagging as he stared at his feet.

 

“And that is quite alright,” Hawke continued gently. “You want to know why? Because I _know_ that, no matter what decisions I might make in the future, even if you don’t agree with them, I know you’ll support me. All of you.” He sighed loudly. “But my life’s gonna take a dramatic change _if_ this works out and I do reserve the right to just take a moment before diving into what no doubt will be utter madness. So, don’t give up on me just yet, alright?”

 

“Well, the mage surely taught you well when it comes to giving speeches,” Fenris said, not even trying to keep the humor out of his voice.

 

“I’d say,” Varric agreed with a chuckle. “I am impressed.”

 

Anders locked gazes with Hawke and smiled. “And here I thought I couldn’t possibly adore you any more than I already do, Garrett Hawke,” he said softly.

 

“I am quite fond of you myself,” Hawke answered with a laugh. “Okay, before we go, some basic rules…Varric, try to keep the fairy tales concerning me to a minimum. We do want to convince people but I don’t want to have them a wrong impression of me, either.”

 

“Duly noted…but not making promises,” Varric said with a wink.

 

“Anders…” Hawke sighed and the mage scowled at him.

 

“I’m not _that_ bad,” the blond protested.

 

“No, no, it’s just…since you’re coming with me, you are hopefully aware that you’ll be a target, especially for Meredith and she’ll try to use that against us both. Try to keep calm…and in case this occurs, if I see the need to say something you will certainly disagree with, do _not_ argue with me. Just – keep your mouth shut, even if you want to wring my neck. You know me well enough to realize when I’m doing it as _preventive_ measure, not because I actually mean it.”

 

“I understand,” Anders said with a nod.

 

“Fenris, you’ll make _sure_ he keeps his mouth shut if he can’t control himself,” Hawke told the elf with a grin. “Even if it means taking him away from whatever is waiting for us in there, do it.”

 

Fenris smirked and lifted a suggestive eyebrow at Anders. Anders scowled playfully in response.

 

“Where are the pirate and the witch?” Fenris asked.

 

“Well, we thought it wouldn’t be the smartest move if Hawke was seen with the woman who caused the Qunari uprise that killed the last Viscount,” Varric explained. “She’s been keeping away but she was not idle – she has been delivering gossip that we might use to our advantage. As for Daisy, the Alienage is fully supporting Hawke and make no qualms about voicing it. She decided to stay behind in case of…unpleasant surprises while we are otherwise occupied.”

 

“And Aveline’s probably pacing across the halls of the Keep because we are late,” Hawke said. “Let’s go.”

 

 

~*~

 

It was no surprise to find the halls inside the Keep literally _packed_ with people, though there was no sight of Aveline. There were soft murmurs when Hawke entered Viscount’s Keep, his companions right behind him. It stopped briefly when the guards closed the massive doors behind them, drawing attention to the group of four.

 

_Let the game begin_ , Hawke thought to himself and continued his way down the red rug. As soon as people took notice of who had just arrived – and who accompanied him – the murmuring started again. He glanced across his shoulder at Anders, finding the mage stoically staring ahead and ignoring the hushed whispered and occasional disapproving comments heard among the people. To Hawke’s surprise, Fenris seemed more uneasy than the mage. Not a fan of crowds, it seemed.

 

“Now that’s what I call a grand entrance,” Varric quipped. Hawke snorted in amusement and rolled his eyes as they continued their way.

 

They got as far as the staircase leading up to the guard’s headquarters and the late viscount’s rooms when they found themselves faced with Meredith. She kept her face straight but Hawke could see the fury in her eyes.

 

“Champion of Kirkwall,” she greeted with that condescending voice of hers.

 

“Knight-Commander,” Hawke countered with a smile. “I was expecting to meet you in Seneschal Bran’s office. How very obliging of you to welcome me in the foyer.”

 

“I am doing no such thing,” Meredith countered with a sneer. “I am aware the people of Kirkwall are looking for a show today but I have no time for this nonsense. You may have saved this city when you killed the Arishok and established quite a reputation, but that doesn’t mean you’re fit to rule a city. You know as much about politics as a genlock about cooking.”

 

“Charming,” Hawke chuckled. “If you are so busy, maybe we should postpone this to another day?”

 

“There is nothing to postpone.”

 

“Now, now, Knight-Commander,” Varric spoke up chidingly. “One might think you fear competition. Everyone going for the post of Viscount should have the same chances and Serah Hawke was widely accepted already. You’re not chickening out, are you?”

 

“I am indeed not,” she agreed. “I am merely cutting this short as I refuse to waste precious time I could be investing in more important matters right now.”

 

“More important than the prosperity of Kirkwall?” Varric quirked an eyebrow on her.

 

For a moment, Meredith lost the fight to keep her face neutral and she openly glared at the dwarf.

 

“Everyone in Kirkwall knows that the prosperity and security of the city is my main concern,” she replied, schooling her features once again; the condescending tone remained. “Which is the exact reason why Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, can’t ever be Kirkwall’s new viscount.”

 

“Oh?” Hawke presented Meredith with a disarming smile and crossed his arms, his stance challenging. “Humor me, Knight-Commander.”

 

 

Behind Hawke and Varric, Fenris could feel Anders tense with every passing moment, hands balled into tight fists, fingernails digging into the skin of his palm. There was a faint glow and Fenris immediately reached over to grab the mage’s right wrist.

  
“Don’t,” he whispered harshly. “You will jeopardize everything if you lose control now.”

 

“I know,” Anders gritted out. “She just infuriates me.”

 

“Anders, look at me.”

 

Anders took a deep breath and glanced at Fenris.

 

“Focus on me,” Fenris told him. “Do not look anywhere else, keep your eyes on me.”

 

 

Meredith chose that moment to take two steps toward Hawke; close enough that their faces almost touched. She cast a quick glance behind him, a hapless smile on her lips when she noticed the rest of Hawke’s companions.

 

“Do I really need to remind you and the entirety of Kirkwall, that it was _your_ friend, a pirate from Rivain, that caused the Qunari invasion, out of base motives?” she asked, her commanding voice filling the entire building. “She brought them here in their search of a relic she had stolen from them. And you supported her, helped her find it back after someone else stole it from her and helped her escape when Kirkwall demanded justice for her actions. Up until today, she has not been found although sources tell me she is still in Kirkwall.”

 

“ _You_ demanded justice for her actions,” Hawke corrected, smile gone. “This pirate you speak of was not aware that the Qunari would overrun the city and neither was that the _only_ reason the Arishok ordered it. If you had taken the time to speak to him, like I did on Viscount Dumar’s behalf, more than once, you would have known he saw Kirkwall as corrupt, as a disease that he needed to cure. He was a fanatic who believed bringing the Qun to everyone in Kirkwall would end the corruption he saw everywhere. There’s no telling whether or not the Arishok wouldn’t have ordered his men to burn Kirkwall to the grounds either way, with or _without_ having the relic returned to him.”

 

Meredith made a disgusted sound.

 

“But when the thief became aware of what her actions had caused, she returned to prevent further death and destruction,” Hawke continued. “She cannot be blamed for the Arishok’s fanatic views or harsh actions. What you _can_ blame her for is for bringing them here in the first place, yes, I will not argue with you on that. But the corruption the Arishok saw was brought to him by helpless residents of the city _you_ claim to protect and keeping the order.”

 

“Give it to her, Hawke,” Anders whispered, a dark smile on his lips as he continued to look into Fenris’ eyes.

 

“And what will you bring upon this city next, Champion?” Meredith asked snidely. “One look at the company you keep and it’s clear as day that we can expect a whole lot more trouble in the future and the people of Kirkwall will have to suffer.”

 

“My company?”

 

“I have done my homework, Hawke.” Meredith glanced at Fenris, Anders and Varric, one by one while obviously trying to decide where to start. “The elf who keeps following you around like a homeless puppy is an escaped Tevinter slave. One that has caused more than enough uproar already, with _your_ help. The incident at the Hanged Man, with several innocent citizens injured, the place bathed in blood and a dead magister I had to explain to the magistrate in Tevinter? From what I was told, he’s a prized slave and while Tevinter has kept relatively silent over the whole affair, I do not expect them to do so forever, seeing as the two of you killed a member of their magistrate. How long will it take, you think, until Tevinter slavers, or worse, _blood mages_ come here to reclaim that…” She let her gaze travel along the lyrium lines leading from Fenris’ chin, down his throat to his collarbones before disappearing underneath his armor. “… _monstrosity_ that can rip people’s hearts out with his bare hands?”

 

Murmuring again, rolling through the building like tidal waves.

 

Anders’ eyes widened and he inhaled sharply.

  
“Don’t,” Fenris said with a shaky voice. Anders’ brows furrowed. “I’ve been called worse in the past,” the elf added. It had stung, the mage could see as much. “Don’t…for Hawke’s sake, _please_ don’t.”

 

“And an apostate mage!” Meredith barked out a laugh. “I must say it takes guts to bring him here, Hawke.”

 

“He didn’t _bring_ me here, I accompanied him here,” Anders said before he could stop himself. Slowly, he let his gaze travel over to the Knight-Commander instead, both his wrists caught in Fenris’ iron grip.

 

“I know who you are,” Meredith said, her face showing disgust. “An escapee from the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. An renegade Grey Warden. You used to run a clinic in Darktown, where people refer to you as ‘Healer’. You founded the Mage Underground, helping several mages to escape our supervision, many of them _known_ to be potential maleficar and bringing danger not only upon my city but the entirety of Thedas, because you refuse to acknowledge that you mages are dangerous if not under control. Which you are the ultimate proof for, since you’re not only wanted for apostasy or deserting, but the _murder_ of several men.”

 

Anders went still.

 

“If you honestly believe that being a Grey Warden saves you from jurisdiction, let me assure you, that is not the case. The Grey Wardens do not take desert lightly and you can no longer hide behind them.”

 

“I believe that is quite enough, Meredith!” Hawke snapped. “They _all_ have been protecting Kirkwall and its residents for _years_ and you don’t even know _half_ of the things they have done, by my side, to protect this city you claim to care for so much.”

 

Hawke spun around, pointedly showing his back to Meredith as he addressed their agitated audience.

 

“The apostate mage has been healing not only the sick and poor, but many of the people currently _present_ in this very foyer,” Hawke said. “He never asked for anything in return, not for coin, not for favors. He’s given everything he had, his magic, even his own food, coin and whatever else he could spare to those in need. He was by my side protecting Kirkwall from the Qunari. His name, as some of you might know, is Anders.

  
“Fenris,” Hawke gestured at the elf, “has been keeping slavers away from the Alienage for as long as he is in this city and prevented defenseless elves from suffering the same fate he has. Due to his great knowledge of the Qunari folk, their language and their customs, he was a valued companion and respected by the Arishok. He was the one who used said customs and the Arishok’s sense of honor against him when he suggested that the Arishok and I settle it, here, in this very hall, by duel.

 

“Varric Tethras, my dwarven companion and valued friend, with his many connections has helped keeping Kirkwall out of trouble on more occasions than I care to count, by informing us and having us deal with it, for the safety of everyone, inside these halls or outside.”

 

Hawke was panting slightly and took a pause to swallow. It was silent around him when he slowly turned around to face Meredith again. She was trembling with the effort not to lose her temper.

 

“These men, my friends, have done this city more good than you ever will,” Hawke told her. “Do not dare using their past against them. A lot of people in this city have a more than questionable background, yet it doesn’t stop them from doing good. It’s time _you_ learn to follow their example.”

 

“How dare you…” Meredith gritted out.

 

“How dare _you_?” Hawke countered angrily. “If you fancy washing their dirty linens in public, you should entertain us with a few stories from _your_ youth as well, Knight-Commander. Or you could behave civil and neutral and agree to have an actual _political_ debate and state why you think you’re the better choice for the post as viscount other than to satisfy your perverse need for _control_.”

 

“And he thought Anders would lose his cool.” Varric grinned and shook his head before risking a glance behind him. Fenris was still keeping an iron grip on Anders’ wrists, though it was debatable whether he did so to keep the mage in check or because he needed something, someone to hold on to, shaken as he looked.

 

Anders finally managed to tear his gaze away from the fuming Knight-Commander and Hawke, blending out their arguing and stepped closer to Fenris, his head lowering to bring his lips against one pointed ear.

 

“She will pay,” he whispered, “for calling you that. I will _make_ her pay.” There was a steely undertone in the mage’s voice. “Not today, not here, because I promised. But she’ll learn to never insult or hurt you again.” Fenris felt Anders smile against the shell of his ear. “If she survives, that is.”

 

“Calm yourself, _Vengeance_ ,” Fenris replied in kind, feeling Anders stiffen. “I will not have you do such a thing on my behalf. I want my _mage_ with me, not rotting away in a cell or hung in the Gallow’s courtyard, on display for everyone. Now, _retreat_.”

 

The blond exhaled shakily against his ear; Fenris fought a shiver.

  
“Fenris, I…”

 

A scrawny man, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, rushed through the crowd, apologizing over and over when he kept bumping into people in his haste.

  
Fenris released Anders’ wrists, taking his hands instead and pulled him out of the way.

 

“Apologies, apologies,” the scrawny guy kept repeating. He looked spooked.

  
“What’s the matter?” Hawke asked when the man rushed past him and toward the Knight-Commander, fluttering as he spoke quietly to her.

 

All color seemed to drain from Meredith’s face. “You must be mistaken,” she snapped at the messenger.

 

“I am afraid not. I just saw him with my own eyes!”

 

“He’s _here_?”

 

“What now?” Varric asked. “What could have Meredith so shaken?”

 

“Wish I knew,” Hawke murmured. His racing pulse was slowly calming. He had not expected this. A snarky debate, an irritated, furious Meredith, yes, but to face so much ugliness coming from a single person…

 

“We should go,” Fenris muttered. “The mage needs to get out of here.”

 

“I’m fine,” Anders argued.

 

“I must say I am impressed, Blondie,” Varric said teasingly, “Hawke lost it way before you.”

 

The mage cracked a smile at that while Hawke scratched the back of his neck to cover up his embarrassment. “Yeah, I should have given those advices to myself.”

 

“You did great, Hawke,” Anders assured. “And thank you.”

  
“What for?”

 

“For everything you said about each of us. It…means a lot.”

 

“It does,” Fenris agreed. He looked shy.

 

Hawke sighed. “I only said the truth and there’s no need to thank me for it, you two stubborn—“

 

 

The Keep’s heavy doors opened widely, letting in bright sunlight. Surprised calls and gasps were heard and Hawke squinted his eyes at the shadow marching steadily toward them. People moved out of the way, creating a wide path for the incomer, heads bowing as the stranger passed them.

 

“Good day, good people of Kirkwall,” a friendly voice greeted loudly. Hawke heard Meredith spit out a curse behind him. “I was told there’s a good political debate to be had today.”

 

The shadow gained shapes and color. Hawke frowned at the royal emblem on the armor’s chestplate and the lopsided grin on the face of the man wearing it.

 

He came to a halt right in front of them, his gaze immediately locking with Anders’, who stood rigid, eyes wide in shock. The incomer lifted an eyebrow; he seemed amused, though there was an underlying concern in his gaze as he regarded the mage.

 

“I hope I’m not too late, I _love_ good debates,” the man continued cheerfully.

 

“Mage,” Fenris murmured. “You know him. Who is this?”

 

“No worries,” Varric spoke up, bowing slightly in greeting, “you’ve arrived _just_ in time, your majesty.”

 

“Alistair,” Anders breathed out.

 


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's visit brings an interesting turn of events.  
> Who would have thought it would take the King of Ferelden and Hawke for Fenris to finally lose his cool?  
> Also, mid-section is probably not safe for work!
> 
>  
> 
> \---

Knight-Commander Meredith finally recovered from her surprise, brushing rudely past Hawke and his companions before bowing before the King of Ferelden.

 

“Your visit is quite unexpected, King Alistair,” she said. “I apologize for you finding the city in such a state.”

 

Hawke snorted and received a murderous glare from Meredith when she glanced over her shoulder.

 

“And what state would that be?” Alistair asked, still smiling.

  
“A state of irritation and chaos, not to mention apostate mages running freely across the city.” Meredith straightened her back. “I shall see to having him thrown into the Gallows.”

 

Fenris watched Anders throw an almost desperate glance at Alistair.

 

“I know this apostate mage, Knight-Commander. And I can think of quite a few people who’d really hate see him suffering such a fate. I am one of them.”

 

“Thank you, your majesty,” Hawke said sincerely while fury crossed briefly over Meredith’s features. “You can count me among those people as well.”

 

“The Champion of Kirkwall, is it?” Alistair offered Hawke a brilliant smile. “I’ve heard a great deal about you over the past few years and news about you running for the viscount’s post reached me only a two days’ ride from here. I also heard your competition is a little stubborn.” He winked at Meredith, who fought very hard not to scowl.

 

“He is no competition, he’s a _danger_ , as are his companions,” Meredith offered. “He’s not suited to become Viscount.”

 

Alistair hummed thoughtfully, his gaze travelling over Hawke’s tall, sturdy farm.

 

“May I ask, your majesty, what brought you to Kirkwall?” Meredith went on. “You seem far away from home. Don’t you have a kingdom to watch over?”

 

“I have the most suitable replacement for while I am gone, but I do thank you for your concern, Knight-Commander,” Alistair replied. There was a barely noticeable edge to his words. “But since you asked, I came here to offer my support in finding the best viscount for Kirkwall, seeing as it is my duty to meddle in affairs where people _don’t_ want me to meddle. Not to mention that Kirkwall was so generous to offer shelter to many Fereldans during the last blight.”

 

Hawke quirked an eyebrow, the gesture clearly saying: _Not thanks to her._

 

“I shall discuss matters with the Seneschal tonight,” Alistair continued. “Until then, I hope the two of you will have calmed down enough to seriously debate about who’s better suited instead of having a screaming match in the foyer of Viscount’s Keep.”

 

Hawke huffed out a laugh at that. “I do apologize. That was not my intention when I came here.”

 

“I’d say,” the King of Ferelden chuckled. “As for you…” His gaze returned to Anders, who stiffened visibly next to the elf. “You have caused a whole lot of trouble, young man.”

 

“Young man?” Anders echoed. “Like you’re that much older than me, Alistair.”

 

There was a small uproar in the crowd surrounding them.

 

“You are speaking to the king, apostate,” Meredith hissed at the mage. “Address him properly.”

 

“He’s never had manners, as far as I know,” Alistair quipped.

 

“I…apologize, your _majesty_ ,” Anders murmured.

 

“I will have him removed and put where he _belongs_ , King Alistair,” Meredith practically vowed to the King of Ferelden, bowing slightly.

 

“Touch him and find yourself missing a limb or two, at the very least,” Fenris informed her darkly, making Alistair quirk an eyebrow at her.

 

“Just proving my point,” Meredith stated, offering Hawke a withering look. “Without such company, you may have become a decent man, Champion, but you see what they are already causing now. What will they do once you give them any sort of power in Kirkwall’s matters?”

 

“Or maybe _you_ are simply bringing it out of them with your continued threats,” Hawke countered.

 

“Oh, oh, you are starting again,” Alistair interfered. “Save your energy for the actual debate. Neither of you are proving anything to any citizen right now.”

 

More murmuring in the crowd.

 

“I am only speaking truth. The Champion of Kirkwall is surrounded by criminals,” Meredith pointed out. “An apostate mage who has no business roaming the city freely and his _friend_ …is best taken care of if I have him returned to Tevinter.”

 

“Uh oh,” Varric muttered.

 

“Would he now?” Anders asked coldly. “Why don’t you submit yourself to a Tevene magister, I’m sure you’d make an excellent slave, once they’ve broken you.”

 

“Keep your mouth shut, apostate.”

 

“Take your own advice, _bitch_!” Anders snapped back. His skin seemed to be glowing from the inside and Varric saw something dangerous flash in those amber eyes.

 

“Anders.” Fenris gave the mage a warning look.

  
Something in his voice seemed to settle Anders.

 

“Enough!” Alistair demanded. “This debate is over for now. Knight-Commander, I suggest you return to your duties immediately.”

 

Meredith made a face at Hawke and his companions, but bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement.

 

“As for the _apostate mage_ ,” Alistair continued, “he’ll accompany me. Anders, you’re hereby taken into custody.” The king raised his hand, gesturing at someone. Four guards immediately entered the halls and marched towards them.

 

Anders’ eyes widened in surprise. “Custody?” he asked.

 

Fenris tensed next to Anders. “For what reason?” he snarled. “He has done nothing wrong!”

 

“Fenris, stay out of this,” Varric admonished him quietly.

 

“I will not!” the elf growled back, gripping Anders’ arm tightly. “The mage isn’t going anywhere, not even with you, _king_.”

 

“I beg your pardon but yes, he will,” Alistair replied calmly. “This is a Grey Warden matter. I highly suggest you hold yourself back…Fenris, is it?”

 

“It’s alright, Fenris,” Anders spoke up quietly. Green eyes were wide and wild when they looked at him, yet Anders’ gaze was locked with Alistair’s. “It had to come to this one day.”

 

“Your majesty…” Hawke tried helplessly. “This mage is my friend. At least tell us why you are taking him.”

 

“Hawke!” Fenris roared.

 

“I can’t,” Alistair replied. “As I said, it’s a Grey Warden matter. My reasons are my own and Anders will know.”

 

Meredith sneered. “I will have some of my Templars accompany you, for your safety, your majesty,” she offered.

 

“There is no need. My men are quite capable to defend me and themselves.” Alistair gave Anders a stern look, expression serious now, a look that spoke words Fenris could not grasp. “Will you come with me without a fight?”

 

Anders lowered his gaze and nodded.

 

“Your majesty, I must _insist_!” Meredith protested. “He’s a dangerous man and a murderer.”

 

“Oh, where did I hear that one before…” Alistair smirked and winked at the blond mage. “Follow me then. You do have a lot to answer for, Anders.”

 

“No!” Fenris snarled, tightening his grip on Anders’ arm.

 

“Let go of me,” Anders told him quietly. “It’s alright, Fenris.”

 

“You promised to stop trying to leave me,” Fenris growled at the blond. Anders’ eyes turned sad at that.

 

Something sharp and pointy pressed into the elf’s side and he glanced down to find Varric poking a dagger into his armor. There was a warning in the dwarf’s eyes – and something else.

 

That blighted dwarf _knew_ something.

 

“Let him leave with the king,” Varric whispered, nodding his head at Alistair currently leaning in close to Hawke to whisper into his ear. Confused, Fenris released the mage and Anders slowly walked over to Alistair, who nodded at him.

 

 

Fenris watched in disbelief as Anders was taken away from him, Varric’s dagger still poking into his side. The expression on Hawke’s face was one of worry when he turned around to look at his two companions left.

  
Fenris’ entire body began to shake, every fiber of his being screaming for him to draw his sword and slay down everyone in his way until Anders was back with him. Without realizing it, he reached for his weapon, only to be stopped by Varric once again.

 

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, because Anders will suffer for it,” Varric murmured.

 

“Traitors!” the elf gritted out. Varric’s eyes widened at him in disbelief.

 

“I believe the matter is settled then,” Meredith announced. “I am asking you and your companions to leave Viscount’s Keep at once, Champion and to get the ridiculous idea out of your head that you will ever become viscount.”

 

“The matter will be settled when the king says it is,” Hawke retorted.

 

“The king has no power here.”

 

“Really? Is that why his unexpected visit made you so nervous?”

 

Meredith growled at him.

 

When the enormous doors closed behind the retreating figures of Alistair, Anders and the guards, Fenris finally moved. Pushing past Hawke roughly, making the warrior stumble, he stalked down the long hall, his steps speeding up the closer he got to the door.

 

He pushed the guards trying to keep Fenris from following Alistair roughly away.

 

“Fenris!” Hawke called after him, his voice muffled by the blood roaring in the elf’s ears as the opened the doors and stepped outside.

 

Two of the guards accompanying Alistair spun around immediately, drawing their swords. “You stop right there,” one of them told Fenris. Fenris snarled at him, drawing his own sword.

 

“Get out of my way,” he told them. “Or draw your last breath.”

 

Alistair, only a few feet ahead, with Anders right beside him, glanced over his shoulder. “Really not a good idea, elf,” he informed Fenris with a doubtful expression.

  
“Fenris, don’t,” Anders told him sternly, not even turning around to look at the elf. “Return to Hawke. Please.”

 

“I will _not_ ,” Fenris growled. “I will _not_ lose you _again_ , mage.”

 

Alistair’s features softened at that and finally, Anders turned his head around to look at Fenris.

 

“ _Love_ ,” Anders murmured. “Please?”

 

That settled it. Fenris, in lieu of an answer, pointed his sword into Alistair’s direction, causing the guards to take position.

  
“Hand over the mage, King of Ferelden,” he demanded, then watched Alistair and Anders exchange a look.

 

“Don’t kill him,” Alistair eventually let the guards know before turning his back on Fenris again and urging Anders on.

 

“Alistair, don’t!” Anders called out but three of the guards already charged at the elf, while the fourth stayed close to the king and the mage.

 

They were surprisingly strong, Fenris found – too strong to be normal guards, even in the service of the King of Ferelden. There was something about them Fenris could not quite put his fingers on as he fought against them, desperate to cut a path through them to reach Anders and take him away.

 

The atmosphere changed once again, a sensation Fenris was familiar with by now. It was almost suffocating this time, weighing heavy on his body.

 

There was a blast, sudden and unexpected and Fenris found himself literally flying backwards, his head connecting with something solid.

 

Then he knew no more.

 

~*~

 

_He woke up for the morning in a row – and was pleasantly surprised. Joy filled him, his heartbeat speeding up._

_Opening his eyes, he found Anders in bed next to him. Save for a worn-out shirt, the mage hadn’t bothered putting on clothes, his long, lean legs stretched out comfortably as he flipped through a book he had probably gotten from Danarius’ study, expression thoughtful. He had not tied his hair back, either, as if he knew Fenris secretly loved them falling openly down toward the mage’s shoulders._

_For the third morning in a row, Fenris had woken up and Anders had not left. He was keeping his promise – no more running._

_  
Fenris was intent on fulfilling his end of the bargain._

_Reaching out, he let one lyrium-lined hand caress over Anders’ thigh, making the mage twitch in surprise before a pair of amber eyes and a brilliant smile greeted him._

_  
“We have nothing for breakfast,” Anders informed him. “We need to go to the market.”_

_Fenris offered a sleepy smile of his own. “That’s an interesting way to say good morning.”_

_“Oh! I’m sorry.” Anders closed the book and put it away, sidling down next to the sleepy elf and rolling to his side. Fenris grabbed him by the hip and the mage willingly scooted closer, their noses brushing first, then their lips._

_“I am…pleased you’re still here,” Fenris informed the mage after a chaste kiss._

_“You did make me promise, didn’t you?” Anders teased._

_“Yet I wish for you to stay because you want to.”_

_“I do want to.” Anders kissed him again. “I feel…calm, when you’re with me.” He smiled. “And surprisingly enough, I enjoy sleeping next to you.”_

_“You do?”_

_“Yes.” Anders gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Never had the luxury to sleep next to my lover or wake up next to them. It’s different…and I found I like it.”_

_“Then that’s where you should remain,” Fenris decided, fighting a yawn._

_“In bed? All day?”_

_“I can certainly think of worse things to do than spending all day in bed with you, mage.”_

_Anders chuckled, rubbing his nose against Fenris’. “Have you ever imagined us to be like this?”_

_“Many times,” Fenris confessed. “I just never knew how to achieve it.”_

_“Took a boulder crushing me, hey?”_

_“Do not make light of that, mage.” Green eyes looked sternly into amber ones. “I do not wish to remember that day any more. It was frightening.”_

_“So you keep saying.” Anders ran his fingertips over Fenris’ cheek. “Did anyone ever stop to ask you how you’re doing?”_

_“There was no need, it was clear how I was feeling. Hawke was so thoughtful to mention my state after the incident.” Fenris claimed Anders’ mouth once again. “Another memory I do not wish to revisit.” His hand slid over Anders’ hips to his backside, caressing over his enticing backside, causing the mage to chuckle once again, then breathe in sharply when curious fingers wandered further, finding puckered, quivering flesh, a fingertip teasing over it._

_“I cannot remember you being so sensitive all those times before,” Fenris murmured._

_“I wasn’t,” Anders confirmed in a whisper._

_The elf smirked at that. “I do quite enjoy it.”_

_A breathy laugh. “Really.”_

_Fenris hummed and slowly got up, leaning over the mage before bringing their bodies into full contact. He nipped on Anders’ bottom lip. “What’s with that book, mage?” he murmured._

_“I was looking for books that would be perfect for someone to learn with when they only start out reading,” Anders explained, a soft moan escaping his lips when Fenris rolled his hips, causing delicious friction. “This one seems easy enough. We can start tonight, if you want to.”_

_Fenris paused at that, gazing at his mage. “You want to continue to teach me?”_

_“Unlike Hawke, I have a lot of patience.” Anders smiled encouragingly. “You can do this, Fenris. I once had to learn Common myself, I can teach it to you.”_

**_I love you_ ** _. A thought, sudden, uninvited and tightening his chest, yet Fenris knew it to be the truth._

_He took Anders then, slow and deep, each inward thrust making the mage writhe beneath him, each pull back had the mage lift his hips, arching his back. No matter how much his body demanded it, Fenris kept the almost painfully slow pace, fascinated by Anders’ reaction to it - his eyes were squeezed shut, head thrown back and mouth slightly open, skin, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, shivering beneath his touch; the mage completely surrendering to the elf and their lovemaking, like he had only a few nights ago, in that armchair. They had had hard and fast enough in the past and Fenris did not wish to continue where they had left off. Things were different now; **they** were different._

_Anders became restless beneath him after a while and Fenris found himself being pushed away, a choked, needy moan escaping the mage’s lips._

_“What’s wrong?” Fenris asked, confused and pulled out completely. Anders immediately rolled over to his stomach beneath him, one hand reaching back to clutch at Fenris’ hips, pulling him close again. Back, back inside, where Anders seemed to need him so desperately._

_Yet, Fenris paused. “I thought…?”_

_“Need you deeper,” Anders breathed. “Please.”_

_“But the last time…”_

_“It was not the position, Fenris,” Anders reminded._

_And Fenris remembered, joining their bodies once again and returning to their previous pace, slow and deep, finding himself all the way inside Anders’ willing body. Anders moaned with almost every deep thrust now, writhing, both hands clutching the pillow beneath him desperately. He lifted his hips and Fenris grasped them, holding him up and against him. The next time he pushed in, one hand caressing down the mage’s spin, tongue licking the spot between his shoulder blades, Anders shook, moaning loudly. The sweetest sound Fenris had ever heard, adding to the intensity of the moment; Anders always used to be so quiet when they had been together and way more in control._

_But this…_

_Anders had never **been** like this with someone before, Fenris suddenly realized. No matter how brazen Anders had always been when telling about his little ‘adventures’, in the Circle or outside, nothing compared to the here and now, to the experiences he made with Fenris. Not even with Karl, Fenris figured, since Anders had always mentioned how everything had to go quick and quiet in the Circle so they wouldn’t be caught. There was no time to draw it out, to enjoy prolonging the act until neither participant could take it any longer._

_Not even Karl, the man Anders said was the first he’d ever dared to love, had been with the mage this way, if only because they didn’t have the opportunity._

_Another thing they would have in common, the elf mused, only barely picking up pace, yet it seemed enough to make Anders quiver, tightening around him as he almost howled in pleasure, sending a thrill down Fenris’ spine._

_“Fenris,” Anders gasped out, thrusting his hips back, suddenly desperate for more, for harder, **faster**. “Fenris!” Pleading. Begging. “Fenris…”_

 

~*~

 

“Fenris!”

 

The elf groaned at the throb that went through his skull, making stars dance in front of his closed eyelids.

 

“I think he’s coming to.”

 

Fenris forced himself to open his eyes, his body going rigid at the pain that shoot through his skull when he was greeted by way too bright light and the headspin that followed, yet he kept his eyes open, focusing on the blurred face in front of his.

 

“Maker, Fenris, are you alright?”

  
“Anders,” Fenris choked out.

 

“Easy, Broody, easy,” he was admonished when he hastily tried to get back to his feet. “You ain’t going far with that head wound.”

 

Green eyes finally focused and he growled when he recognized Varric’s face, one arm lashing out to push the dwarf out of the way. A weak attempt, he realized, as Varric caught it easily and held it in a firm grip. “Easy,” Varric told him again.

 

A pair of strong arms were surrounding him; Fenris instinctively struggled, but to no avail.

  
“Anders!” he roared.

 

“Hush! He’s gone.” Fenris glared up, finding Hawke glancing down at him worriedly.

 

“Then I will find him,” Fenris told the warrior, fighting the embrace once again. Hawke let go of him; Fenris staggered to his feet, his knees shaking and threatening to give in.

 

“Not like that you won’t,” Varric informed him. “Let someone see to that wound on the back of your head, elf, before you bleed to death on us.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Fenris grunted out. “I don’t have time to waste for something so trivial right now.”

 

“Fenris, wait--!”

 

Gauntleted hands were on his neck before Hawke managed another word. Surprised at the smaller elf’s strength, especially after only waking from unconsciousness, he next found himself thrust against a wall, gasping for air.

 

“How _could_ you?” Fenris almost screamed at Hawke.

 

“Fenris…” Hawke gasped out.

 

“Andraste’s tits, elf, have you lost your mind?” Varric shouted. “Let go of him!”

 

“Don’t speak to me, dwarf, if you wish to keep your tongue,” the elf snarled. “You two traitorous bastards did _nothing_ to stop this.”

 

“Fen…can’t…breathe…” Hawke panted.

 

“Fenris, would you listen?” Varric tried again.

 

“You said you’d always protect him,” Fenris growled, voice low now. “And then the _king_ of _fuckever_ shows up and you simply hand him over? After fighting for him in there, against the Knight-Commander? You traitorous son of a _bi_ —“

 

“Choke me all you want, Fenris, but do not insult my mother,” Hawke gasped out, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

 

“Broody, Hawke _was_ protecting Anders,” Varric said soothingly. “Even if he didn’t know it.”

 

With an angry shout, Fenris let go of Hawke and hastily looked around. “They can’t be far. I’ll find him.”

 

“Fenris, _Maker’s_ sake, wait!” Hawke said around a cough.

 

“I’m done listening to you,” Fenris informed him coldly. “Get out of my sight.”

 

“Blondie is _fine_ ,” Varric said quietly. “Now calm down or Bianca will have to teach you some manners!” Indeed, Bianca was aimed at Fenris’, Varric’s finger on the trigger.

  
“What are you talking about?” Fenris growled.

 

“Not here,” Varric glanced around. “The Keep has ears and not the most trustworthy ones.”

 

“I am not going anywhere until I know where the mage is,” the elf stated, lowering his voice.

 

“The king took him away, to a place unknown as of yet.”

 

Fenris’ turned his head to find Aveline leaning against the walls, seeking shelter from the burning sunlight in the cool shadows. Only now, Fenris became aware of their surroundings; they must have dragged him to the back of the Keep, away from prying eyes. He saw a trail of blood drops leading around the corner and reached up to touch the back of his head. It stung and Fenris suppressed a hiss.

  
“Where have you been?” he asked.

 

“Carrying out orders,” Aveline replied simply.

 

“ _Whose_ orders?”

 

“Calm down, Fenris,” Hawke told him. “It’s alright.”

 

“The mage is gone,” Fenris pointed out, his voice breaking. “ _Nothing_ …is alright, Hawke.”

 

“Well, he didn’t seem to want you to follow,” Aveline pointed out. “You can thank him for your current headache, elf. Although, I believe he meant to protect you, not harm you.”

 

“He did,” Fenris replied with conviction. “The guards were attacking me.”

  
“Because _you_ threatened the king.”

 

“I told him to hand Anders over. There was no need for a fight.”

 

Hawke and Aveline sighed loudly.

 

“My, Broody,” Varric spoke up, amazement in his voice. “This really is serious, isn’t it.”

 

Fenris didn’t reply.

 

“As it is,” Aveline said, “and since you asked so _politely_ , I was informed by one of the king’s guards that Meredith had meant to set up a trap for you with the help of a few Templars, intent on provoking a fight in a public place. As you all know, Anders would not stand by idly, he’d protect you and that would have given her the best reason to have him arrested.”

 

“The king knew about that?” the elf asked, surprised.

 

“Yes and he decided to take matters into hand before she would. I was told to keep an eye on everything and make sure the king and Anders leave as planned without further interference. I do not know more.”

 

“And Alistair told me to wait for someone to contact us as soon as it is…convenient, before he left with Anders,” Hawke added.

 

_Don’t kill him_.

 

Fenris frowned.

  
“This was all…a setup?” he asked.

 

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Varric replied with a shrug. “We had to drag you away immediately because you ended up giving Meredith every reason to have _you_ arrested, blighted elf!”

 

“Attacking the King of Ferelden.” Aveline snorted. “What in Andraste’s name were you _thinking_ , Fenris?”

 

“He wasn’t and he had very good reason to,” Varric told Aveline with a smile and Fenris felt gratitude for the dwarf, only minutes after being ready to slit his throat.

 

Aveline sighed and glanced around. “I need to leave before my absence is noticed. I don’t want Meredith to ask uncomfortable questions.” She pushed herself away from the cold stone wall and nodded at the three of them. “Donnic and I will keep our eyes and ears open. There is something strange about the whole affair and I will find out what.”

 

“Stay safe,” Hawke told her. “One companion missing is already bad enough.”

 

Aveline waved him off, though she did clearly look pleased at the warrior’s concern, then disappeared around the corner.

 

“So, now what?” Varric asked, once Aveline was gone. “We just gonna wait for that contact Alistair mentioned?”

 

“I can’t just sit around and wait,” Fenris growled, “while they are taking Anders away from Kirkwall.”

 

“No, you won’t,” Hawke said with a half-smile. “ _You_ will go see a healer now.”

 

“Oh, that promises to be fun,” Varric drawled.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Anders after he was taken into 'custody' - and Varric sharing a secret. The question is, whatever Varric did, will it help Anders' case or not?
> 
> Also, this plot bunny obviously went rabid and decided to make the crossover between DAO and DA2 an even bigger one *le sigh*
> 
> \---

It had started out as a dull sensation in the pit of his stomach, settling in the moment he’d stepped out of the Keep, heading toward a road holding an unknown future for him.

 

Anders had foreseen that one day, it would come to this. Either he’d end up in the Gallows, made Tranquil after the Templars had their fill of fun with him, or hung, with Meredith’s malicious smile the last thing he’d see – or found by the Grey Wardens, returned to Amaranthine and suffering the same fate. The latter option at least promised that he wouldn’t be made Tranquil, since he knew the Warden Commander was against that. Disgusted by it, really, after meeting a Tranquil in Ostagar. No, Anders would simply be executed after a short trial.

 

What he had not foreseen was everything happening between running away – again – and being found. Anders had not anticipated building something akin to a home, even if its location was debatable; finding friends that stood up for him and remained by his side for years, genuine and each dearly loved by Anders. He had never cared too much for people, because attachment was dangerous, but he soon realized he could not stay away from them, needing their friendship as much as air to breathe, enjoyed being cared for, happy to always be welcomed. To be treated as someone of worth, not like the monster he often admitted to himself he was, or, at the very least, felt like he was.

 

And Fenris…

 

The dull sensation had turned into a physical pain, the further they left Kirkwall behind, the longer he was separated from the elf who had made it clear he wanted _Anders_ in his life; by his side, in his home, in his bed, not only for a few stolen hours, but to remain. For weeks, maybe months, years. Possibly forever?

 

Anders was _aching_ and realized he’d once again made the mistake of becoming too attached, despite knowing what his future held. When he’d told Fenris to stay back, to let him go, Anders hadn’t expected it to hurt so much that he ended up wanting to curl up and cry, in hope that pain would dissolve eventually.

 

But then, had becoming attached really be a mistake? Wasn’t that what Anders had wanted? Wasn’t that attachment the reason he _fought_ so hard to return, despite still not remembering what it was he fought in order to achieve that?

 

He trotted along the Wounded Coast, Alistair still by his side, regarding him quietly. The guards had fallen back a little, still close enough to intervene if needed, but otherwise giving the two Wardens space. No shackles. Anders knew he could at least attempt to run, if he wanted to. But he had asked for this – he _had_ sent word to Amaranthine and Denerim. Surely, he had not expected Alistair to show up, but if the King of Ferelden was still close with the Warden Commander, he figured it shouldn’ be too much of a surprise. Maker knew what adventures the Warden Commander was currently experiencing that kept him from coming to get Anders himself.

 

Seeing the guards attack Fenris had made the anger inside Anders boil up once again; at least this time, he had been able to make conscious decisions instead of being overcome by his need to protect Fenris, effectively stopping the elf with a barrier and a Spirit bolt. He had not meant to injure him, though and Anders still felt panic bubbling inside him. Was Fenris okay? Alistair hadn’t allowed him the time to heal Fenris.

 

“You’re worried about him,” Alistair said, finally breaking the silence between them ever since they had left Viscount’s Keep. Anders didn’t even know how long it had taken for them to get to the Wounded Coast, how much time had passed.

 

“Yes,” Anders murmured.

 

“He’ll be fine. The guards checked on him. Nothing serious, but he’ll probably have a nasty headache.”

 

Anders frowned.

 

“He’s important to you,” Alistair observed with a smile. “And you are important to him, obviously, if he risked a fight against four men to get you back.”

 

The mage blushed. “Fenris is…” _Everything._ Anders shook his head, choking down the tears that threatened to gather in his eyes.

 

“I see.”

 

“I should have said goodbye,” Anders whispered. “Not tell him to back off. Said goodbye. I never do anything right, do I?”

 

Alistair frowned at him.

 

“When you faced the archdemon…Mael and you…you said goodbye as well, didn’t you? Believing that one of you will lose his life killing it.”

 

“He refused to, actually,” the king said with a fond smile. “Said not to worry. Turns out I didn’t have to, indeed, and still to this day, I don’t know what it was he did that he survived and remained by my side.”

 

“If he didn’t tell you, I’m sure he had good reasons,” Anders argued. “And love is the best reason I can think of.”

 

Alistair hummed in agreement before tilting his head to the side, indicating Anders to follow him down a narrow, sandy path toward the sea.

 

Anders could taste the salt in the wind. Even though the Wounded Coast wasn’t all that far from the city, the mage felt like he was thousands of miles away. They had had a lot of battles in this particular area: slavers, Qunari, blood mages, Templars, bandits. There seldomly had been out here just for fun, to take a swim in the sea or camp beneath the stars. It was one of the memories Anders would forever hold dear – Hawke insisting they all need a break and dragging them out here, packed with the best food he could find, Varric bringing several decks of cards for entertainment, whenever he wasn’t in the mood to tell them an exciting story. Merrill, literally squeeing as she dived into the ocean for the first time, letting the waves carry her back to the shore countless times, then later complaining about how the salty water had dried out her skin. Anders even hadn’t minded Sebastian, who kept enganging in conversations with the grumpy elf, who would indulge the Chantry brother, occasionally even ask the one or other question, but generally not giving the impression he was truly listening to the stories about Andraste and whatever else Sebastian came up with, although pretty much everything seemed Chantry-related.

 

Lying in the warm sand, next to Hawke, just gazing at the stars, sharing a moment to mourn those lost to them forever and those they were still about to lose in the future; a moment of regret for making the wrong decisions at some point in their life. Hawke had even grabbed his hand at some point, giving it a squeeze before holding it for almost the entire night, Anders feeling at ease, Justice quiet in his head.

 

Isabela getting so drunk that she embarrassed herself a few times until Merrill dragged her off to the shared tent and sent her to sleep with a spell…

 

 

Anders winced, one hand clutching at his stomach. He hadn’t been aware a single person could _ache_ this much inside. The pain was bad enough that he almost bolted to run back to Kirkwall as fast as his legs could carry him. But he wouldn’t – he wouldn’t drag his friends and his elf into this mess.

 

“Anders?”

 

Alistair had stopped walking, regarding him with concern.

 

Anders forced himself to stop walking as well and took a couple deep breaths. “It hurts,” he muttered.

 

“We’re here.”

 

The mage looked up and found himself staring at the set-up camp along the beach. Five tents, all in bright, almost cheerful colors; a warm fire in the middle of the circle of tents, crackling invitingly, giving what looked like a rather big rabbit a good roast. He paused when he looked at the symbols drawn on the tents’ roofs. Two of them carried the official royal seal of Denerim. The other three carried a gryphon. The symbol of the Grey Wardens.

 

Behind himself, he heard a loud sigh, not muffled by a helmet this time and Anders froze when he believed to recognize that sigh.

 

“Maker, but it’s hot under these things,” a familiar voice complained. “Why did we have to keep them on all the way?”

 

“Because we couldn’t be sure someone would stop us before reaching the safety of the camp,” Alistair pointed out with a smile. “Just remember, your father led an army for days to fight back the Orlesians and he never complained once. You can carry a helmet for a few hours!”

 

“Anders certainly owes me now.”

 

The mage spun around, his eyes going impossibly wide when he was met with a familiar face.

 

“Nathaniel?” he exclaimed.

 

Nathaniel Howe offered a mock-glare, carelessly throwing the helmet aside. “Nice to see you again, Anders.”

 

The second guard lifted his helmet, shaking his blond head once he was freed and smirked. “It went well, yes? Our dear Warden will be pleased.”

 

Zevran Arainai. Anders was sure his heart was beating fast enough by now to soon give him a stroke or something similar unpleasant.

 

“It was a good idea,” Alistair agreed with a nod.

  
“Zev...,” Anders breathed out in disbelief.

 

“Awwww, speechless, my dear mage?” Zevran winked at Anders as he wiped sweat off his forehead. Much like Nathaniel, Zevran didn’t look to have aged one bit over the past few years. “And here I thought there’s only one way to shut you up properly, yes?”

 

Alistair groaned. “I don’t want to know!”

 

“Oh please, you’re not still a prude, are you? Have I taught you nothing?” Zevran teased the king.

 

“You certainly told me a lot of things I never wanted to hear about.”

 

“You’re…you’re here? All of you?” Anders asked.

 

“Well, not all of us,” Nathaniel said with a chuckle. “Velanna and Oghren are keeping an eye or two on Vigil’s Keep during our absence.”

 

The remaining two guards removed their helmets; Anders had never seen them before but he suddenly felt the distinct sensation of tainted blood and knew they were Wardens as well. How had he not noticed it while they had been walking all this way out to the Wounded Coast?

 

“Velanna and Oghren.” Anders quirked an eyebrow.

 

“Not the best choice but someone had to do it.” Nathaniel shrugged.

 

Someone pushed a flask into Anders’ hands and the mage looked up to find Zevran, still smirking at him.

 

“You must be thirsty, my pretty one, yes?” he asked.

 

Anders took a few long sips of heavenly cool water from the flask, his body welcoming the liquid after walking around in the sun for what felt like days, although it probably been only a few hours.

 

Once he was done, Anders sighed, his shoulders slumping. The two unknown Wardens greeted him with a nod before retreating to one of the tents, probably to get rid of the armor entirely.

 

“That’s…quite a lot of effort just to drag me back to Amaranthine and have me hanged,” Anders pointed out. “Or decapitated.”

 

Three pairs of eyes widened at him.

 

“What makes you think we were planning on doing that?” Nathaniel asked after a moment.

 

“Hang? Decapi—“ Alistair shuddered. “Dear Maker, no. If Mael had planned to get rid of you, I could have simply allowed Meredith to do however she pleases.”

 

“Oh, I do not want to know what that would entail,” Zevran grunted out. “She’s…not very pleasant to the eyes, yes?”

 

Nathaniel snickered.

 

“Then…why?” Anders asked, feeling thoroughly confused.

 

“How about you sit down, eat something and we explain?” Alistair suggested. “We need to have you fit by nightfall.”

 

“Yeah. Right after _he_ got done explaining some things to _us_ first,” Nathaniel said pointedly.

 

“The only one he has to answer to is me, Nathaniel.”

 

Anders heart skipped a beat at the sound of that melodic voice, his knees instantly going weak. A gasp escaped his lips before he could stop it.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Slowly, the renegade Warden turned and found himself faced with the man he owed so much to, just looking at him felt suffocating. He didn’t fight his knees giving in, dropping into the soft sand, eyes squeezing shut when he felt the imploring gaze of a pair of green eyes on him.

 

“I’m so sorry…” was the first thing Anders found himself sobbing out.

 

~*~

 

Fenris scowled at Lirene for the umpteenth time and still the woman was utterly unimpressed by the elf’s hostility.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” the Fereldan woman said. “Avoid cracking your skull open and you won’t need me to fix you up.”

 

Hawke had half-carried Fenris back to Anders’ clinic while Varric had sought out Lirene. It had taken a while, mostly because the dwarf had to explain to her why Anders couldn’t take care of ‘his elf’ and Lirene getting upset over the whole business before agreeing to help out.

 

“Get it over with, woman, I don’t have all day,” Fenris snarled. Lirene made a face at him.

 

“Just so you know, if it were for me, I’d let you _keep_ that headache for the rest of the week or let you bleed to death on the clinic’s floor but I happen to be fond of Anders, who, for reasons unknown to me, is fond of _you_ , so I’m doing this for him, you ungrateful creature.”

 

“What would you know about the mage’s _fondness_ of me?” Fenris grumbled.

 

“I know enough. And I have a set of perfectly healthy eyes.” Lirene cleaned the wound one final time, then handed Fenris a healing potion. “I don’t know why he kept doing this to himself, letting you use him whenever you pleased, but even a blind man could see that trying to convince him to stop seeing you after nightfall was hopeless.”

 

Fenris paused at that; obviously, Lirene had not heard of the latest circumstances, other than Anders having been gravely injured during a cave-in.

 

“I wasn’t using him,” he murmured, eyes cast downward. “Do not speak of things you know nothing about.” Fenris leaned forward, burying his face in his palms, exhaling shakily against them.

 

Lirene regarded him for a moment, then quietly bandaged the elf’s head enough to cover the wound. “Drink the potion,” she murmured. “It’ll take care of the rest, but expect it to need another day or two to heal completely.”

 

“Thank you, Lirene,” Fenris heard Hawke speak up.

 

“And get our healer back,” she added gruffly. “He’s risked too much for his freedom.”

 

“We will,” Varric assured. He and Hawke both had stood guard by the clinic door, for one to keep unwanted visitors away, for two to make sure Fenris wouldn’t run as soon as he saw his chance. “Keep eyes and ears open, maybe someone can give you a hint on Anders’ whereabouts.”

 

“No need to tell me that,” Lirene assured. “I’ve told you once, all of us keep an eye out for the mage. We will continue to do so.”

 

“You have my gratitude for that,” Fenris let her know. Lirene paused. “You always kept him safe, down here. Who knows how long he would have lasted if it hadn’t been for you and the other Fereldans protecting him.”

 

Lirene pulled one of Fenris’ hands away before grabbing his chin, forcefully pulling the elf’s face up. Fenris scowled at her; Lirene’s features softened. “You will find him and bring him back home,” she said. Not a question; a statement.

 

“I will.”

 

She nodded, then went to clean up.

 

“How did the king even _know_ about this set-up?” Hawke wondered aloud. “He only just arrived and Denerim doesn’t really meddle in Kirkwall’s politics all that much, else I’m sure he would have taken actions about the Qunari invasion.”

 

“Anders contacted the Hero of Ferelden, or attempted to, at least,” Fenris murmured. “Varric had his letters sent out before we met up at Bartrand’s estate.”

 

“Why?” Hawke cast a questioning glance at the dwarf.

 

“Apparently, Blondie believed to need help only his Warden Commander could supply,” Varric answered. “Help for what, I am afraid I don’t know. Blondie was still shaken from the cave-in with his mind all over the place. He might not even know himself.” The dwarf sighed. “As it is, answer arrived shortly after and was delivered to be and I have since been corresponding with the Hero of Ferelden.”

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Varric. “Does the mage know about that?”

 

“No.” Another sigh. “I was worried the Warden Commander would come here and drag Anders back to Vigil’s Keep without knowing the _whole_ story, so I told him about everything that’s been going on ever since Anders came to Kirkwall. You know…the clinic, Karl, Justice…”

 

“You _told_ the Warden Commander one of his Wardens is possessed?” Hawke exclaimed.

 

“Was, Hawke. _Was_ possessed. As it is, the Warden Commander knew about Anders joining with Justice and confirmed the story about how Anders and Justice had originally met, so there was not much of a surprise for him on that account.” Varric shrugged. “He promised no harm would come to Anders.”

 

“And you believed him,” Fenris said bitterly. “You fool. He deserted the Grey Wardens, did you really think they would not take actions?”

 

“A messenger came to me two days ago,” Varric continued, ignoring Fenris for now, “just in time as one of my spies told me about the rumors of Meredith planning to set up a surprise for us. She’s trying to take our group apart, one by one and Anders is the easiest target. An apostate mage using magic against Templars and others to protect his friends, in a public place? That would have had him in the Gallows and no Champion nor five dozen Fereldans would have been able to avoid such fate for Blondie. I let the messenger deliver news about her plans to the Warden Commander. It would seem they reached the King of Ferelden first.”

 

“If you knew about this, then why didn’t you tell us?” Fenris snarled, grabbing Varric by the collar and almost lifting the dwarf off the floor. “Anders could have stayed back instead of accompanying us!”

 

“I agree with Fenris,” Hawke said darkly. “Why did you keep it a secret from us?”

 

“Because the dwarf finally decided we became too much of a liability,” Fenris growled, his brands brightly lit.

 

“Now, now, you know you can trust me,” Varric argued, struggling a little in Fenris’ hold. “I wouldn’t endanger Blondie. At least, not more than necessary.”

 

“Well, you just did,” Hawke pointed out. “You were promised no harm would come to Anders and then the King of _blighted_ Ferelden marches into Viscount’s Keep and takes him into custody. We have no idea where Anders is.”

 

“Or if he’s even still alive,” Fenris whispered, letting go of Varric and giving him a not so gentle push that sent the dwarf to his ass. “And you –“ The elf pointed at Hawke. “You didn’t stop him, either.”

 

“And what exactly would you have had me do, Fenris?” Hawke asked sadly. “Slay the king, grab the apostate mage and run for my life?”

 

“You could have pledged for him,” Fenris said tiredly. His head was throbbing again and he remembered that he still hadn’t taken the potion Lirene had handed him.

 

“I believe Varric when he says he explained everything to the Warden Commander in detail and truthfully,” Hawke argued. “There would have been nothing else to add.”

 

“The Warden Commander isn’t _here_ ,” the elf snarled.

 

“If the King leaves the royal palace in Denerim, he does so for very good reason,” Varric spoke up from his spot on the floor. “And never without caution or capable protection.”

 

Hawke pursed his lips. “So…you think the Warden Commander might be in Kirkwall, after all?”

 

“To the Void with this!” Lirene barked angrily at the three men, wiping her hands on a ragged piece of clothing. “You waste precious time arguing here when you should be out to find our healer!” She pointed one finger upward. “It’s already getting dark!”

 

Fenris quickly downed the healing potion, then looked around for his sword. Finding it near the cot he’d been sitting on moments before, he grabbed it and swung it on his back. “The woman is right,” he muttered. “I shall be on my way.”

 

“We should think first about where they could have disappeared to,” Hawke objected. “Running around aimlessly will only waste more precious time.”

 

“You could have done that while Lirene was tending to me,” Fenris shot back. “If you wish to waste more time, feel free. I am going. I have no need for the two of you.”

 

“If that were the case, the guards wouldn’t have knocked you down so easily,” Varric remarked dryly.

 

“It was not the guards who did this to me, it was Anders.” Fenris rummaged through the pile of ruined bottles and herbs, hoping to still find the one or other intact healing or lyrium potion.

“Fasta vass!” he cursed when he came up with nothing, giving Anders’ work desk a shove as he stalked past it.

“Ah, impressive, all that power in such a lithe body,” an unknown voice purred.

 

Three heads spun around to find a cloaked figure lurking in the shadows by the clinic door. Fenris reached for his sword, unsheathing it with fluent movement and pointing at the stranger.

 

“You have three seconds to tell me who you are,” Fenris growled, “I have absolutely no patience right now.”

A chuckle. “Ah, my friend, you wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard that said to me.” His voice was strangely accented. The cloaked figure graciously stepped out of the shadows, one hand reaching up to push back the hood covering his face, the other pulling back the cloak slightly to reveal a sharp dagger resting at his hip.

To Hawke’s surprise, it was an elf. Blond hair tied back, a nice tan to his skin, much like Fenris’. Golden earrings shimmered in dim light; there were Dalish tattoos on his slender face.

  
“I believe I am looking for you, yes?” the elf asked, smiling.

 

Varric frowned. “Hum…”

“Or maybe you are looking for me? Ah, whichever way you prefer.” The stranger gave the hint of a bow.  “Zevran Arainai, at your service.”

 

“I don’t have time for games,” Fenris snarled.

 

“Zevran?” Varric rubbed his chin. “I remember that name. You were with the Hero of Ferelden. One of his companions.”

 

“Indeed I was and still am,” Zevran comfirmed. “As it is, I find myself accompanying the King of Ferelden at the current time, my clever dwarf. Lovely city, Kirkwall. It’s been a while since I last visited this place and I must say it hasn’t changed one bit. There are still piles of dirt, rotting bodies and betrayal and corruption around every single corner!” He gestured around vividly. “A veritable paradise for someone like me.”

“Ah, so that’s what Alistair was trying to tell me,” Hawke said.

 

“What did he say?” Fenris asked.

 

“To watch out for the one person possibly babbling more than Anders.”

 

Varric snorted.

 

“Ah, dear Anders.” Zevran grinned wolfishly. “Still as pretty as I remember him to be, though he does look a little haggard, yes? Shame that, I shall endeavor to nurse that handsome bastard.”

Fenris paused. “You saw him?” he asked. “Do you know where he is?”

 

“I’m afraid that ‘handsome bastard’ is spoken for,” Hawke said, fighting an amused smile.

 

“Is that so, yes?” Zevran’s grin widened. “That would be quite a surprise.”

 

“So,” Varric said, reaching out to rest one hand on Fenris’ arm. Fenris flinched and growled at the dwarf. “Where is our Blondie?”

Zevran nodded, turning from lewd to serious in the blink of an eye. “Follow me.”

 

He took off, not making a single sound as he moved.

 

Fenris glared.  “Follow him _where_?” he asked.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet my Hero of Ferelden...hopefully you're more pleased than Fenris lol (picture will follow with next update, for obvious reasons you...won't see until the next update).
> 
> Some bits shamelessly nicked from Anders' short story on Dragon Age Wiki.
> 
>  
> 
> \---

Fenris, Hawke and Varric kept a safe distance to the one who had introduced himself as Zevran, as they followed the elf across Hightown Square, still packed with people, despite the late hour, that either cheered for Hawke or shouted insults. A few even tried to stop Hawke and talk to him for a minute and he hastily promised to listen to each one of them later, because now was not a good time.

 

When they passed Hawke’s mansion, Zevran quickly turned left and led them toward the Chantry instead.

 

“Where is he taking us?” Fenris asked Varric.

 

“We’ll have to wait and see, I’m afraid,” the dwarf replied.

 

“What if it’s a trap?”

 

“Then he’ll get his ass kicked,” Hawke grunted out.

 

“Oooh, I am curious what _that_ would entail,” Zevran chirped ahead of them. Hawke winced.

  
“Forgot about the elven ears.”

 

Varric chuckled.

 

Ahead of them, Zevran slowed down as soon as the Chantry came into view. Fenris spotted a group of Templars ahead, one of them being Cullen. He felt his pulse quicken, remembering the scene at Anders’ clinic. Part of him still wanted to end the Templar’s life just for laying a hand on his mage.

 

Zevran paused for a moment, regarding Cullen with interest. Did they know each other? Fenris felt himself bristle, his instincts screaming _Trap!_ at him once again, but then Zevran moved and disappeared into a small, dark alley leading away from the Chantry courtyard.

Varric let out a long sigh as soon as they had entered the alley as well, Fenris’ elven eyes scanning the dark for a trace of the stranger elf.

 

The alley ended abruptly, giving way to a smaller square enclosed by long abandoned estates.

 

Hawke took a look around, finding no sign of Zevran. “I don’t like the look of this,” he muttered.

 

“Where are we?” Fenris asked.

 

“This part of Hightown has been abandoned for quite some time,” Varric explained. “These estates had been occupied until the Chantry began to expand, building the courtyard and needing the space. The nobles that lived here were compensated generously, no doubt with tax money that the Chantry previously collected from them and every other citizen of Kirkwall.”

 

“What for?” Hawke asked.

 

“It was when Kirkwall got its own Circle of Magi, decades ago. Obviously, the Chantry had to make the right impression on any mage coming here.”

 

“Pathetic,” Fenris spat.

 

“Oh?” Varric grinned at the elf. “That coming from you, the one who keeps saying every mage should be locked away for good?”

 

“I—“ Fenris paused, looking ashamed. “I still stand by my opinion but I do refer to those who definitely should remain in the Circle. Still, it is pathetic for an institution such as the Chantry to throw away money obviously needed for more important matters just to make an impression.”

 

“I won’t argue with that. But still, some time ago, one of the mages you wanted to see locked up was Blondie, no?”

 

Fenris didn’t answer.

 

“You are attracting way too much attention, my friends,” Zevran told them, once again emerging from the shadows. He had lost his cloak somewhere; he was wearing a finely crafted armor. Much like Fenris’, it was skin-tight, light and allowing as much movement as possible. Hawke could spot a gryphon on the breast plate. “You should save your discussions for a safer place, yes?”

 

“This way!” a distant sound suddenly barked.

 

“Templars,” Varric muttered. “Let’s get moving.”

 

Zevran carefully pushed the door to one of the estate’s open – probably where he’d just emerged from. “In here. And be silent until I tell you it is safe, yes?”

 

“If this is a trap…” Fenris glowered at the elf.

 

“It is no such thing but I can see why you distrust me, yes?” Zevran nodded at the pitch black darkness inside the estate. “Hurry. Do not move once I have closed this door and wait for me to return.”

 

“Go,” Hawke told his friends, giving Fenris a gentle push. Fenris almost hit Hawke for that, still angry about what had happened at the Keep, but he relented and crossed the distance to the estate silently and quickly.

 

The door closed behind them, leaving them in complete darkness.

 

“Blondie would hate being here,” Varric pointed out in a whisper.

 

“I thought he was supposed to be here?” Hawke inquired in kind.

 

“Hush,” Fenris admonished, elven ears listening intently for any sounds coming from outside. He could still hear the Templars, their boots heavy on the cobbled streets. Four of them, he counted. One sounded pretty annoyed as he barked impatient orders at his companions. Probably new recruits, Fenris thought to himself, except for their leader, hence the impatience in his voice.

 

“You think they belong to the Templars that were meant to set up the trap?” Hawke asked.

 

“Either that or Cullen noticed us passing and sent them after us,” Fenris agreed quietly.

 

“It seems he kept his word, though. Meredith made no mention of the incident at Anders’ clinic, so it would seem she doesn’t know about it.”

 

“Or didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of all of Kirkwall,” Varric pointed out.

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

The shouts and sounds of heavy boots faded as they waited in the dark. Hawke let out a sigh of relief when it became utterly silent around them.

  
“Whatever this Zevran did, it seems to have worked,” he said.

 

“From what I heard, that Antivan boy is quite good at providing distraction,” Varric said around a chuckle.

 

Fenris made a disgusted sound. “I don’t want to know.”

 

 

A sudden spark of fire made the three of them jump. Drawing their weapons, they watched a single torch float in the darkess. It moved slowly, from the center of the room to the left, lighting another torch. Then another, illumating the estate’s foyer further. At last, the torch was thrown into a fireside. Hawke squinted his eyes when spots danced in front of them, trying to adjust to the sudden light.

 

Fenris eyed the slender body leaning against the fireside, regarding the three of them with an impassive expression. Green piercing eyes studied each of them for a moment, the light of the fire reflecting in his hair. Pointed ears revealed he was an elf. The slender body was dressed in a tightly fitting black armor. It wasn’t sturdy or even made of metal, but Fenris could see it was able to take – and prevent – quite a lot of damage. Dragon scales; Fenris had seen that kind of crafting before. Hardly anything could pierce it.

 

Varric seemed – stunned at the sight the man, his mouth hanging slightly open.

 

“And who would you be?” the elf’s melodic voice asked.

 

“I could ask you the same,” Fenris countered.

 

“I’m not the one who entered this place without permission.”

 

“Indeed,” Hawke said with a nervous laugh. “We apologize. A…friend told us to get to safety in here while he distracts our…followers.”

 

Pointed ears flicked with interest. “Really.”

 

“Who are you?” Fenris growled.

 

“I asked first.”

 

Fenris charged at the stranger, only to be held back by Hawke.

 

“I am Garrett Hawke, also known as the Champion of Kirkwall,” Hawke introduced himself, his arm still blocking Fenris’ way, a warning look in his eyes. “The dwarf if Varric Tethras, a dwarven merchant and friend of mine. And this…prickly specimen of an elf is Fenris.”

 

Fenris shoved Hawke away in annoyance, his eyes never leaving the stranger.

 

“You’ve got quite a bit of a temper, _Fenris,”_ the stranger said. “You should learn to control yourself or turn this anger into something more…productive.”

 

“Like what?” Fenris snarled.

 

“You could learn to become a Berserker.” The stranger tilted his head, studying Fenris’ lithe form. “Or maybe learn Reaver abilities. Judging by the lyrium lines poured into your skin and the fact that you are still alive, you are capable to overcome a great deal of pain.”

 

Fenris blinked in surprise.

  
“What were you looking for, that the Templars felt the need to follow you?”

 

Hawke glanced at Varric, who still looked – stunned. That was a first – the dwarf lost for words and Hawke couldn’t quite figure out why.

 

“Another friend of ours,” Hawke replied neutrally. “He was taken into custody not too long ago. We wanted to make sure he’s safe.”

 

“A friend, you say?” There was the hint of a smile. “If he was taken into custody, it was obviously for good reason. Why endanger yourself by following him and possibly ending up arrested as well?”

 

“Why do you think it’s any of your business?” Fenris growled. “We shall be done here. Hawke, whoever this Zevran is, he did not lead us where he was supposed to. I am wasting my time while that Alistair takes Anders farther away.”

 

Hawke shook his head. “Why would he lie to us? He told us to follow…”

 

“He said he’s taking Anders into custody for Grey Warden matters. I am informed enough to know that Alistair is a Grey Warden as well and therefore connected to their Commander, who surely has an interest in getting him back.” Fenris reached up and grabbed Hawke’s beard. The taller man winced when he was pulled down. “I want my mage back,” he told him in a growl. “And I am wasting my time here.”

 

A soft chuckle caught Fenris’ attention and he snarled at the other elf.

“ _You_ rmage, is he?” the stranger asked, now openly smiling.

 

Again, Fenris charged at him, this time without being interrupted by Hawke. The other elf seemed unimpressed, suddenly finding himself at the pointy end of a broadsword, his expression still impassive, which infuriated Fenris further.

  
“Tell me your name,” Fenris demanded again.

 

“Make me,” the elf in front of him taunted, still smiling.

 

With a shout, Fenris graciously swung his sword. From the corners of his eyes, he saw Hawke jumping toward him. The sharp blade cut through the air, the pointy end of the sword slicing over the stranger’s cheek and drawing blood.

 

“Consider it a warning,” Fenris growled, watching the blood flow and drip off the other elf’s cheek. “Start talking.”

 

The stranger hummed, lifting a hand to touch the wound on his cheek. “You really have a bad temper, my friend,” he remarked dryly.

 

“Fenris, sweet Maker!” Hawke groaned with a horrified expression.

  
“Elf, you need to calm down,” Varric spoke up behind the Champion.

 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the Tevinter elf snarled at his companions. His apparent fury gave way to a pained expression. With a gasp, Fenris dropped his broadsword, one lyrium-lined hand clutching at his chest as he staggered backwards, his breaths now close to choking.

 

“Fenris?”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

With much effort, Fenris gazed up to the stranger, whose expression was still calm and collected. His body seemed to be glowing from the inside as he fixed Fenris with his stare. The wound on his cheek closed up and as soon as it had disappeared from his tanned cheek, Fenris dropped to his knees, gasping for air. His hands were shaking.

“What did you do?” he gritted out.

 

“Consider it a warning,” the other elf repeated Fenris’ words from moments before. “And a lesson as well. Never mess with an opponent if you don’t know what to expect.”

 

Varric stepped forward, resting a hand on Fenris’ trembling shoulder. “That was impressive,” he noted.

 

“Reaver abilities.” The stranger elf smiled. “Handy to have. Now, is your aggressive friend going to listen or shall I continue?”

 

Fenris exhaled shakily. It sounded – defeated. “Where is he?” he asked quietly.

 

“Your mage? Tall, freckles, blond hair, going by the name of Anders?” The elf smirked.

  
“You know him?” Hawke asked.

 

“I used to. Now I am not so sure anymore.” The elf stepped forward, extending a hand to Hawke, who hesitantly grabbed and shook it.

 

“My name is Mael Tabris,” the stranger finally introduced himself. Fenris froze, Varric’s mouth opened in surprise. “Commonly known, I believe, as the Hero of Ferelden.”

 

“The Commander of the Grey Wardens.” Hawke gaped at him. “You are…not what I expected.”

 

“I hear that often,” Mael replied dryly.

 

“I mean no offense.”

 

Mael chuckled. “I realize that.” He nodded at the dwarf. “Nice meeting you finally. Thank you for informing me about everything, Varric, it was a great help.”

 

“Please tell me Blondie is still alive?”

 

“There’s a fine line between alive and functioning. I’m not sure which is suffice when it comes to him.”

 

Varric hummed.

  
“Where is he?” Fenris asked once again. Quiet, almost subdued.

 

Mael smiled at that. “Upstairs, last time I checked.”

 

~*~

 

_To the Hero of Ferelden,_

_Commander of the Grey Wardens and_

_Arl of Amaranthine:_

_We don’t know each other yet, although I have heard quite some impressive stories about you throughout the past years. We sadly didn’t meet when you paid Orzammar a visit and helped us crowning our new king._

_What you must know about me is that I am a friend of Anders, renegade Grey Warden and the one asking for your help in the letter attached. I realize the Wardens must be quite angry with Blondie for deserting and I am not sure how much you know about his reasons or how truthful Blondie has been when telling the story to me, but I do ask for your mercy on his behalf._

_Blondie has made a mistake out of good intentions. Such occures more often throughout Thedas than anyone would like to admit. But let it be known he did not succumb to his ‘possession’, no matter how much of a pain in the ass Justice can be, apparently and has since made up tenfold for his deeds. He has opened a free clinic where he heals people without demanding anything in return (although he should) and has been devoted to it throughout the years I’ve had the pleasure of knowing him. He aids the Champion of Kirkwall, of whom I am sure you have heard by now and fights for the rights of the mages of all Thedas. I will not claim his methods in doing so are always positive but from what he has told me, you are aware of his reasons, maybe more so than any of us and even supported his ideas._

_I am certain he did not run from the Grey Wardens because running is his strong suit or that he hates having any obligations. If anything, I am convinced that all Blondie wants is to live free and among people he loves and for that reason alone, he stayed in Kirkwall after losing whom he came here for in the first place, to achieve that. He left out of shame and guilt over what happened in Amaranthine._

_Should you come for him, please consider hearing Anders out before you pass judgement on his actions in the past. Consider hearing us, his friends, who will pledge for him without hesitation._

_Varric Tethras_

 

Anders lowered the first of many letters Alistair had wordless handed over in camp on the Wounded Coast, his hands trembling lightly at the whirlwind of emotions coursing through his body.

 

He had been angry, right-out infuriated when he learned that Varric had been in contact with Mael and Alistair behind his back, all this time; had wondered if the trust he’d put into the dwarf had been betrayed, like it had been so often in his life but he had not expected the fierce protectiveness in the dwarf’s written words and his plea to not pass judgement quickly and without hesitation.

 

“I don’t deserve them,” he murmured.

 

Nathaniel glanced up from where he was inspecting his bow. The dinner Anders had requested for, consisting of simple bread and cheese, was still untouched in front of the mage. Anders lay curled up on a small, ruined sofa; it had once cost a fortune, Nathaniel could tell, for it was fine Fereldan work, stemming from the times before the Fifth Blight. He wondered how long this estate had been abandoned by now.

 

Templars and Guardsman had begun to patrol the Wounded Coast only mere hours after Alistair had led them away from the city and to the safety of their camp. Although, it had looked like the Templars patrolled and the Guardsman were following them in secret. Alistair, worried that Meredith wasn’t as easily fooled as she first appeared to be, had told the Commander and Nathaniel to take Anders back to Kirkwall, the last place she would probably suspect him to be at right now. Zevran had left first, to carry out his second task of the day – getting into contact with the Spirit Healer’s friends and leading them to their hideout, which was now an abandoned Hightown mansion instead of a camp on the Wounded Coast, as originally planned.

 

Alistair had returned to Viscount’s Keep, as promised, to discuss matters with the city’s Seneschal. The remaining two Wardens, new recruits by the name of Alan and Mika, had taken care of making their camp disappear as quickly as possibly before finding a place for the night for themselves. Too many people sneaking into Hightown would have attracted way too much attention and Zevran hated to attract attention if he didn’t intend to do so – and Nathaniel hated the Antivan elf complaining about it for hours, mostly because somehow, Zevran always managed to blame him for everything, no matter if he did anything or not.

 

“I had never meant to drag them into this,” Anders continued after a long moment of silence.

  
“I cannot claim to have had many friends throughout my life,” Nathaniel replied calmly. “Actually, I can’t even claim as such now, despite having been with the Wardens for years. But I have learned that friends stick together and yours seem to be excellent at sticking to you.”

 

“Because I let them,” the mage said remorsefully.

 

“That’s not as bad of a thing as you make it out to be.” Nathaniel returned to inspecting his bow. “You should be grateful.”

 

“I am.”

 

“Then why the remorse?”

 

Anders sighed. “Because I am obviously a terrible friend.”

 

“Not from what I remember.” With a sigh of his own, Nathaniel put his bow aside; it was useless, as long as he couldn’t fully concentrate on it. “I will not lie, Mael was furious when you ran away, but I’d say not for the reasons you believe. You’re not the only Grey Warden who ran away in the history of the order. In fact, I heard that several Wardens from Orlais left the order after hearing what happened at Ostagar. Mael’s own mother was a Warden, if you remember, and she stole herself away many times to spend time with her son as he grew up, far away in Denerim’s alienage. I don’t know how Orlais dealt with their renegade Wardens, but if you truly believe the Commander’s first reaction upon finding out your whereabouts would be to cut your head off first, then ask questions, you really don’t know him at all.”

 

“Nathaniel, I killed several men,” Anders hissed out. “One of them a Grey Warden, like us.”

 

“A Templar who was conscripted because he came to Vigil’s Keep and literally begged to join the order,” Nathaniel pointed out. “He was alone and seemed sincere. Seneschal Varel misjudged and did not wait for the Warden Commander to return. He conscripted that man while we were busy helping the people of Amaranthine restore their city.”

 

“I know that.”

  
“We didn’t know what happened until we returned. Neither did we know Rolan had convinced Varel that having an apostate mage in our midst would cause trouble with the Chantry and the only way to keep the Chantry out of Warden business was to hand you over as a peace offering.”

 

“I killed them, Nathaniel. With my bare hands.”

 

“You also set the entire area on fire, but that’s beside the point. Justice killed them because they threatened you,” Nathaniel clarified. “What do you think Mael would have done to them, had he found out in time what’s going on? Would he have sent you on patrol with Rolan? Maker, no, I refuse to believe that.”

_The Wardens agreed we can’t harbor an abomination._

What to believe…whom to believe…

 

Anders winced at a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his skull, reaching up to rub his fingertips over the now sensitive area.

 

_It is time._

_Do you have the courage to accept my aid?_

_You’re a sin in the eye of the Maker._

“No,” Anders moaned. Hours apart from Fenris and his fragemented mind made itself known once again. He could feel the turmoil inside his head starting to rise, the anger thrumming in his veins, quickening his pulse.

  
“What’s wrong?” Nathaniel asked. “You got pale all of a sudden.”

 

“My mind, it’s…” Anders shook his head. “As I already told you earlier, it’s been an utter mess since the cave-in.”

_Blood that tastes like honeyed wine, dripping down his throat when he swallows. Warm and sticky on his hands as he looks at the head they are holding, ripped from the body at his feet._

“No…no…” Anders shook his head. “Stop.”

  
“Anders?” Nathaniel addressed him, concerned, slowly getting up from his seat.

 

“Stay away from me,” Anders gritted out as he closed his eyes.

 

“Maker be damned,” the mage’s fellow Warden cursed under his breath. Anders heard Nathaniel move across the room with long, quick strides, opening the door to the corridor and marching off, leaving Anders by himself.

 

A moment later, Anders heard murmuring, muffled voices coming from downstairs. His head was throbbing by now but at least his mind seemed to have quieted. For how long, Anders couldn’t tell and he expected it to become worse without Fenris around, whatever it was the elf did that calmed Anders’ head whenever he was near. Maybe the lyrium, Anders pondered, or the constant connection to the Fade the elf possessed, switching between worlds easily whenever he phased. What must it be like for the elf? Anders had always wondered, but never asked, not even when he finally had the chance, sleeping or just resting in each others’ arms at Fenris’ mansion, simply enjoying the closeness.

_Don’t get attached. Nothing lasts forever. There is no forever in a mage’s life because someone will always make sure they get taken away from you, for you are a sin in the eyes of the Maker and deserve nothing._

_Don’t get attached._

_I want to get attached. I have the **right** to get attached. I am free. I have a choice. I want to get attached. I want to get attached._

_Don’t get attached._

“Leave me alone,” Anders gritted out. “Whoever or whatever you are, leave me alone.”

 

“Mage.”

 

“Leave me alone,” Anders repeated with more conviction. “Get out of my head!”

 

“Mage, open your eyes.”

 

Suddenly, it was quiet in his mind, the anger inside him subsiding as quickly as it had come in the first place, heartbeat slowing down to normal.

 

Anders blinked his eyes open and his breathing halted for a second when he found familiar emerald greens gazing at him.

 

“Calm yourself,” Fenris told him gently, hands cupping the mage’s face carefully. They were trembling.

 

Anders lunged forward and enveloped the elf’s lithe form with his arms.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, did the Hero of Ferelden really come just to retrieve his renegade apostate or what is he doing in Kirkwall?  
> Kinda like a filling chapter, really.
> 
> If you want to know why Varric is laughing so much (same thing I did irl), have a peek at the bottom. Some information added for **Tiggy** as well :)

Varric couldn’t seem to stop laughing.

 

His laughter was infectious, although Hawke tried his best not to laugh at his dwarfen friend, who was pretty much doubling over by now, tears streaming down his cheeks.

 

“He reminds me of Oghren,” Mael deadpanned, causing a snicker to escape Anders’ lips, whose face was buried against a certain elf’s neck.

 

“Varric is not drunk all that often, though,” the mage pointed out, voice muffled.

 

“Varric, calm yourself,” Fenris grunted. “I fail to see how this situation is a laughing matter.”

 

The dwarf took a few gasping breaths in an attempt to calm down, lifting a hand to point at Mael. “You…how can you not see?”

 

“See what?” Fenris snarled.

 

“Blondie totally has a type…” Varric snickered.

 

“A type?” Anders glanced up from Fenris’ neck – he looked lost.

 

Now Hawke began to chuckle.

 

“What?” Fenris roared, arms tightening around Anders’.

 

“Elf. White hair. Green eyes. Need I say more?” Varric asked between snickers, gesturing back and forth between Fenris and the Warden Commander.

 

Anders blinked at Mael, who in return eyed Fenris.

 

“Maker’s _balls_ , Varric!” the mage suddenly exclaimed. “No!”

 

That only made Varric and Hawke laugh even more, while Fenris huffed.

  
“Alistair would have had my head for even trying!”

 

“No, he would have sulked,” Mael corrected Anders. “ _I_ would have, though.”

 

Anders made a face at the Warden Commander. “Thanks, I guess.”

 

“You’re quite welcome.”

 

 

Varric finally recovered from his laughing fit and slumped into one of the dust-covered chairs. Anders seemed comfortable to remain on the floor, clinging to Fenris’ lean body like his life depended on it and in a sense, Varric mused, it was true – maybe not Blondie’s life, but certainly his sanity, it would seem.

 

Nathaniel Howe was guarding the door to the room they vacated; Zevran had returned briefly, finding them all safe and sound and taken off again immediately in search of Alistair. It was getting late and Anders could sense Mael getting the slightest bit of nervous that the king had not returned yet.

 

“So, now that we’re all cozy,” Varric spoke up, “I must agree with Blondie’s impression that taking an entire group of Grey Wardens to Kirkwall to retrieve a renegade Warden is a lot of effort.”

 

Mael smiled and nodded his head. “Actually, we had planned to come to Kirkwall, after receiving some disturbing news from a Grey Warden prison situated in the Vimmark Mountains.”

 

“There’s a Grey Warden prison in the Vimmarks?” Anders asked with a  frown. “We have been out there often, I never sensed any of them.”

 

“With the Darkspawn piling up in the Deep Roads, from which the prison tower stems, I would imagine that’s very hard to do,” Mael said. “Or to differ Darkspawn from Grey Wardens.”

 

“There’s a Dalish Camp on Sundermount,” Hawke murmured. “Merrill’s clan lives there. She’s a friend of ours.”

 

“Keeper Marethari’s clan, yes.” Again, Mael nodded. “One of the Dalish brought the message we received from their camp to the city to hand over to a sailor.”

 

“What are the disturbing news?” Varric asked.

 

“We couldn’t really tell. The message we received was – written hastily and whoever wrote it seemed confused. A lot didn’t make sense, but knowing what’s locked away in there, we have reason to expect the worst. We had four more Wardens with us that we have sent onward to the prison to gather a first impression and we hope to hear from them soon.”

 

“What’s locked away in there?” Fenris implored.

 

Mael thought for a moment, then shook his head. “We will save that one for tomorrow. Probably too much to digest tonight and the day has been eventul enough already. What I will tell you is, that the story of said prison is somehow linked to Hawke’s father.”

 

Hawke’s eyes widened. “My _father_?”

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

“Oh, this is getting better and better,” Varric said with a chuckle.

 

“Receiving word from Anders merely gave us yet another reason to come here. We might need every Grey Warden available and he’ll be able to sense something bad coming way before anyone else in Kirkwall would notice.” Mael regarded the mage, still comfortable in the Tevinter elf’s arms. “Whatever is going on there might even be partly responsible for your current state of…mind.”

 

“Because dying in a cave doesn’t already to a number on someone,” Anders deadpanned. “Got it.”

 

Mael smiled.

 

“So…you’re not planning on dragging Anders back to Amaranthine?” Hawke asked to clarify. “Or, you know…have him executed for deserting?”

 

“No,” Mael confirmed. “Nothing like that. I know why he left. I just wish he would have come to me instead of running.”

 

“Maker knows what I would have done to you,” Anders whispered. “You saw what I did, Mael.”

 

“What you did?” Fenris pulled back a little to look Anders in the eyes. “What is it that you did?”

 

“I believe it’s debatable whether you did it or that Fade spirit possessing your body.” The Warden Commander sighed. “Really, Anders? Allowing a Fade spirit into your body?”

 

“He was my friend.”

 

“He didn’t belong into this world,” Nathaniel spoke up from his spot by the door. “You knew that as well as we did. You also know what happens to abominations and I do not think the Chantry makes much of a difference between spirit or demon.”

 

“In case you haven’t noticed yet, Nate, the Chantry doesn’t care if all a mage can do is make plants grow faster, they want them locked away or Tranquil,” Anders pointed out bitterly. “Not to mention we’re all maleficar in their eyes, whether or not we ever saw it necessary to slit our wrists.”

 

Nathaniel made a face at Anders, but decided not to argue.

 

“Irving is still making sure the mages are treated well at the Circle in Ferelden,” Mael pointed out calmly.

 

“They are still prisoners.”

 

“Oh, don’t start with this again, please!” Nathaniel complained. One look from Mael shut him up and he left the room, muttering under his breath.

 

There was a heavy weighing silence in the room for a few long moments until Fenris spoke up again.

  
“The mage will remain free then?”

 

“The other option would be you following us to Amaranthine and take Vigil’s Keep apart,” Mael quipped. “I prefer my Wardens alive.”

 

Fenris blinked, his ears blushing in an instant. Varric chuckled when Anders ghosted a fingertip along the tip of one pointed ear, making the elf in his arms twitch and growl in annoyance.

 

“I do ask for his assistance concerning the Grey Warden prison, though,” Mael added.

 

“Of course,” Anders agreed immediately. “That’s the very least I can do since I keep my head in exchange.”

 

Mael huffed, offering a striking resemblance to Fenris as he did and Varric burst out laughing once again.

 

“We,” Hawke corrected the Spirit Healer. “We get to keep you, so we will all offer our help.”

 

“Thank you,” Mael said sincerely. “But first things first…Anders asked for my help in his letter. That paired with the information Varric delivered through his letters, it would seem we need to take care of that first.” He walked over and knelt down next to Anders and Fenris. “You’re a Spirit Healer,” Mael told Anders. “Have you tried to fix it yourself, whatever it is?”

 

Anders shook his head.

  
“Why in the Void not?” Hawke asked.

 

“Because I cannot tell what happens if I do,” Anders replied. “If something goes wrong…”

 

“He should try under supervision,” Fenris agreed. “You’ve seen what happened at Bartrand’s estate or at Anders’ clinic. If he meddles with whatever it is he believes is wrong with his mind, we cannot tell for sure what he may stir up.”

 

“Agreed,” Hawke said with a nod.

 

Mael got up again, rolling his shoulders as he did. “We will wait for Alistair to return from Viscount’s Keep. See what news he brings. Once the matter concerning Kirkwall’s…administration has been solved, I would suggest seeking out Keeper Marethari. Dalish elves possess a wide knowledge concerning spiritual matters. She might be able to help.”

 

“That sounds acceptable,” Fenris agreed with a nod.

 

“Will it be safe for Blondie to go back home for the night?” Varric asked, stretching his tired limbs.

 

“Templars are still patrolling Kirkwall’s streets,” Mael said thoughtfully. “No doubt on Meredith’s order. I don’t think even the safety of the night will be enough.”

 

“I can stay here,” Anders said with a half-smile. “I’ve…slept in worse places.” He winked at Fenris. The elf scowled at him. “Dust beats rotting corpses, love. I’m sorry.”

 

“I removed them,” Fenris grumpily pointed out.

 

“I noticed.”

 

“What, Fenris cleaned up?” Hawke asked with a grin.

 

“Don’t start, Hawke.”

 

“Touchy!”

 

The door opened and Nathaniel poked his head in. “Warden Commander?” he called out. Mael nodded at him. “Go home then,” he told Hawke and his companions. “Anders will be safe for the night. I will have a messenger sent to you in the morning.”

 

“I’m staying here,” Fenris said.

 

“Of course,” Varric teased.

 

Anders smiled at the elf and reached up to carefully remove the bandage around Fenris’ head. “I’ll make sure you’ll sleep comfortably,” he murmured, touching fingertips to the wound on the back of the elf’s head. Fenris’ eyes slipped closed when healing magic started to flow, taking care of what the healing potion hadn’t helped with yet.

 

“Don’t kill anyone, Fenris,” Hawke told the elf in lieu of bidding him and the mage goodnight.

 

“I don’t know what state the rest of the rooms are in,” Mael told Anders, “but I’m sure you can find a bed somewhere. We will speak in the morning.”

 

Anders nodded, waving at the three men as they left the room. The moment the door closed, Fenris found himself pulled close for a passionate kiss that, despite being tired and worn out, made his toes curl in pleasure.

 

“Mage,”  he murmured against the blond’s lips as they parted.

 

“Thank you,” Anders said simply.

 

An exasperated sigh. “Fool mage.”

 

The mage in question chuckled.

 

 

~*~

 

Mael Tabris awaited the King of Ferelden in the dimly lit foyer of the estate. Zevran was following him, a silent, yet deathly shadow. Mael had never asked why Zevran had remained in Denerim after the Blight was over. The Antivan elf had always claimed to love his freedom too much and Mael had given it to him, even though he had never actually meant to take it in the first place. Zevran was talented in many ways and had proven a valuable addition to their party when they went to face the archdemon and stop Loghain before he took things too far; Mael had Zevran swear loyalty when the Antivan elf had been send to kill him, but he never had an interest in demanding more from Zevran than he was willing to offer.

 

Zevran remained, Mael soon learned, because he had made it a personal matter to protect the King and his beloved. Whatever distrust Zevran had harbored disappeared completely when Mael stood against Talisien by his side, fighting for the Antivan’s freedom and independence from the Crows.

 

Just like Hawke, Varric and Fenris had fought for Anders, he mused with a small smile. The mage could consider himself lucky. Such good friends were hard to find.

 

“How did it go?” Mael asked as soon as Zevran closed and locked the estate’s door securely behind himself, immediately preparing to camp out in the foyer to keep watch.

 

“She is still very unpleasant to the eyes, yes?” Zevran joked.

 

Alistair chuckled tiredly. “There’s something strange going on with that woman. Can’t quite put my finger on it.” He shook his head. “We will meet tomorrow at early noon. I hope the Champion of Kirkwall is prepared to face that harpy again.”

 

“I have no doubt of that.” Mael reached out, helping Alistair unclasp the armor’s breastplate.

 

“How is he?” Alistair asked around a yawn.

 

“Anders? Happy to be reunited with a particularly stubborn elf, it would seem.”

 

“Fenris, is it? Yeeeees, he seems very passionate about the Spirit Healer indeed. Not sure what would have happened if Anders hadn’t put a stop to things earlier today.”

 

“I would have killed him,” Zevran replied easily.

 

“Doubt he would have made it easy for you.” Once the breastplate was gone, Alistair went to work on the rest of his armor. “Been a while since I saw a group of people all being so very different from each other.”

 

Mael smiled. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

 

“A warrior, a rogue, a mage and a prickly elf?” Alistair mock-gasped. “No idea what you are talking about!”

 

The Warden Commander playfully punched Alistair’s now unprotected shoulder with a grin, then left the king’s side to prepare a bivouac for them with the different blankets and whatever else Nathaniel had managed to find within the estate that would provide at least some comfort.

 

Zevran settled on the floor, with his back against the front door. “Sleep, my friends,” he told them. “You’ll be safe.”

 

“Do you never sleep?” Nathaniel groused.

 

“Someone needs to make sure you don’t get dragged away by Darkspawn, yes? In my experience, they always grab the _dumb_ ones first.”

 

“Zevran,” Mael scolded around a chuckle.

 

Nathaniel made a face at the Antivan before settling on his hardly comfortable makeshift bed, his back pointedly turned toward Zevran, who offered a lewd grin in response.

 

Mael paused when strong arms enveloped him. Soft lips pressed a kiss to the top of his head and for the first time since leaving Amaranthine, the Warden Commander allowed himself to relax.

 

“Is it strange that I don’t miss playing king in Denerim at all?” Alistair murmured. “If it were for me, we could just do what we planned on doing, all those years ago. Keep travelling. See all of Thedas. Have the greatest adventures!”

 

“You were never particularly eager to become king in the first place,” Mael pointed out quietly. “Even though it was the right decision. You honor Cailan.”

 

“I’m sure his widow would beg to differ.”

 

“That bitch is rotting away in a cell.”

 

Alistair snorted, leaning forward to touch his lips against the corner of Mael’s mouth. “I love you,” he murmured. “ _My_ prickly elf.”

 

“You’re making me jealous,” Zevran informed them.

 

“And I want to _sleep_ ,” Nathaniel grumped.

 

Mael huffed. “Really, _how_ did I end up with the lot of you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mael Tabris is my warrior City Elf that I did my first complete playthrough with including the expansion packs, so game-wise, the only one of my characters that “met“ Anders so far in Vigil’s Keep *lol*.
> 
>  
> 
> Mael is pretty brazen and has been very fond of Alistair since the first moment, even though they had their ups and downs, especially concerning the decisions Mael sometimes made. His night with Morrigan is one story Alistair will _never_ hear about.
> 
> He’s always had a neutral view on mages (although he’d prefer Morrigan over Wynne) and totally did not get a connection to Sten. Zevran was kinda like his best buddy and they did shamelessly flirt sometimes. He doesn’t like injustice in general, though, no matter which race etc. is concerned.
> 
>  
> 
> He has been helping Alistair to get his (rightful?) throne since finding out he’s the king’s bastard. Even though he’s indifferent concerning Cailan, especially concerning the situation in Denerim’s alienage, he did have a lot of respect for him (and none for Loghain, but then, who does? Not me!).
> 
>  
> 
> Just like Fenris, he’s also been a little snarky and broody on the side and revisiting the game and seeing him, I thought: No wonder Anders never raised an eyebrow at Fenris’ looks, he’s seen a white-haired, tattoed elf before (I did not own DA2 at this time, so I had no idea about Fenris). Hence Varric bringing my amusement into this game upon meeting the Hero of Ferelden J
> 
>  


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A King, a Champion and a Knight-Commander meet at Viscount's Keep...

The crowd was not allowed inside Viscount’s Keep today, no doubt on Alistair’s order, Varric thought, as they marched toward the wide open doors. Hawke was walking beside him and while there was a determination to his steps, the warrior was in rather subdued mood and obviously sleep deprived. If Varric had to guess, he’d say Hawke had spent the night awake, searching his parents’ belongings for anything about his father he didn’t know yet, after the Warden Commander had dropped the hint about a connection between Hawke’s father and the Grey Warden prison.

  
“What do you think will happen today?” Varric asked to distract his friend.

 

“Other than Meredith being her lovely self again?” Hawke retorded with a snort. “I have no idea. I decided to not have any expectations. I will say what I have to say and whatever the decision will be, I will accept it.”

 

“You do realize you may leave those halls as Kirkwall’s new viscount today, right?”

 

“Anders might get drunk to celebrate.” Hawke offered Varric a toothy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Worth a shot, no?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

To their surprise, Fenris was waiting for them, Aveline by his side. Her Guardsman stepped aside as Alistair walked up to them, greeting the elf and the Guard Captain with a nod.

 

“What are you doing here?” Hawke asked Fenris.

  
“I was told in no uncertain terms that I am to not let you face the Knight-Commander without my sword as close to her neck as possible,” Fenris murmured around a small grin.

 

_Anders._ Hawke couldn’t help but chuckle, his stance relaxing a little. “How is he?”

 

“As well as can be, I suppose. He went back to sleep when I left.”

 

“Hawke?” Aveline nodded at him. “A moment before you go in there, please?”

 

Alistair nodded his consent, offering Fenris a sly grin. The elf scowled in response, then cleared his throat awkwardly.

  
“What?” Varric asked.

 

“Oh, nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Alistair’s grin widened.

  
“Indeed. _Nothing_ ,” Fenris emphasized.

 

“I hope Zevran warned you how grumpy Nathaniel can be when his beauty sleep is interrupted?”

 

Fenris glared at Alistair. Varric barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Ah, Broody. You two can’t keep your hands off each other as of late, can you?”

 

“I remember telling you what will happen if you don’t keep that tongue of yours in check, dwarf.”

 

“Broody and Blondie it is then?” Alistair asked, amused. “Has a nice ring to it.”

 

“Oh, I should call my next novel that,” Varric agreed with a nod.

 

Hawke chose that moment to return. “Aveline says someone might have information about where that explosive Anders mixed together ended up. She is investigating further and will hopefully be able to tell us more by nightfall.”

 

“Ah. Almost forgot about that,” Varric murmured.

 

“Explosives?” Fenris inquired. “What explosives?”

 

“Blondie hasn’t told you about it yet?”

  
“Remember when Aveline came to get Anders and me after she found his clinic raided?” Hawke asked. At Fenris’ nod, he continued: “Anders told us he had mixed together an explosive.”

 

“What for?” Alistair asked.

 

“He planned to blow up the Chantry.” Varric sounded almost non-chalant.

 

Fenris and Alistair stared at him wide-eyed and shocked.

  
“Smooth, Varric,” Hawke muttered.

  
“Oh. Well, that is to say, Justice planned on doing that. Blondie, obviously, will not do it. And can’t, now, seeing as someone stole it.”

 

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair murmured.

 

“We’ll find it,” Hawke assured.

 

“Blighted mage,” Fenris cursed under his breath.

 

“I’m not even sure Blondie still remembers it, considering what happened after the Templars paid an unexpected visit the same day.”

 

“We should ask him later,” Alistair suggested. “For now…” He gestured toward Viscount’s Keep foyer. “There’s something else we need to take care of.”

 

 

Seneschal Bran was already awaiting them in his office, along with Meredith and a handful of selected nobles. The Knight-Commander straightened her back when Hawke entered; the Champion of Kirkwall chose to ignore her, not even offering a greeting in order to prevent her from starting another diatribe on behalf of his companions and himself. It was obvious Meredith had expected something, as she scowled when Hawke refused to acknowledge her present, instead leaving her to suffer a warning glare from Fenris, who was right at his heels.

 

Bran sighed, sounding slightly annoyed that he had to go through with his. Varric knew the Seneschal had been secretly hoping for the post himself, but none of the nobles saw him fit for the position, even though he’d given everything in the past, supporting and working under Viscout Dumar for years.

 

A servant closed the door to the office behind them.

 

“Your Majesty,” Bran greeted Alistar. “It is a pleasure to have the King of Ferelden taking an interest in finding the next Viscount for the city of Kirkwall, as surely, you have more pressing matters to tend to.”

 

“For the next hour or two, no, I really don’t,” Alistair said. “After yesterday’s display of malice within these halls, it would seem Kirkwall will not find a new Viscount if someone can’t play fair.” He gave Meredith a meaningful look. She tried her hardest not to look furious – again.

 

Alistair took the seat offered to him by the Seneschal and regarded the people gathered in the room for a long moment. “I have been doing some thinking while meeting up with the Seneschal yesterday evening,” he spoke up again. “I also had the chance to take a look around Kirkwall and get a better picture of the city and its current situation. It would seem there are a lot of things that need to be dealt with, some more urgent, some less and I would like to see them dealt with soon. The city has been without a leader for too long and it’s showing.”

 

Varric nodded thoughtfully.

 

“One of the things I noticed is the incredible poverty of the greater part of the citizens in Lowtown and all of Darktown’s residents. I was made aware that in the past, the apostate mage I took into custody yesterday for matters not concerning Kirkwall has been helping the Darktown residents a great deal by giving away his own food and offering his magic abilities for free. Seneschal Bran was so kind to let me take a look at the records over the past three years and it would seem the poverty increased after the Qunari invasions.”

 

“Of course it did,” Meredith replied. “Many lost their work, either due to their former workplace being destroyed or their employeers killed during the invasion. Without work, there is no coin.”

  
“And that your citizens are starving does not concern you or make you feel compelled to provide them with food, at the very least?” Alistair asked.

 

“The problem is not that people lost their work due to the reasons the Knight-Commander just mentioned,” Hawke objected. “Surely, both reasons are valid. But after the Qunari invasion, Meredith had the taxes raised, in order to collect enough coin to repair the damage the Qunari have caused. And by that, I mean the damage in Hightown. Lowtown or Darktown have not seen a single coin within the last three years. Apparently, the Chantry, the Gallows and Viscount’s Keep had priority.”

  
“That is not—“

 

“I am not finished,” Hawke cut Meredith off. “The repairs have been done over a year ago. The taxes could have been lowered since but instead, the money the Seneschal now collects goes straight to the Chantry or the Templars, supplying them with expensive armors, weapons or to pay the Guardsman and those that are currently travelling across Thedas to recruit more Templars for Kirkwall, after so many have fallen during the Qunari invasion.”

 

“Necessary measures, your majesty,” Meredith said. “The city can’t be protected if there are no well-trained soldiers to protect it.”

 

“The Guardsman are doing a fine job protecting Kirkwall, under Captain Vallen’s command,” Hawke countered. “Many of them had their pay cut in order to help Kirkwall’s residents, but the coin never makes it to those in need.”

 

“Well, I would like to see a solution. Obviously, Lowtown and Darktown deserve repair as much as Hightown and the poor need a way off the street.”

 

“Lower the taxes,” Hawke suggested with a small shrug. “I never saw a need to raise them in the first place. Kirkwall’s citizens would have been more than happy to do the repairs without calling for people from all of Thedas and luring them with the promise of a decent pay for the necessary repairs. The taxes cause merchants and shop owners to not have enough money to employ a helping hand and a lot of them sure do need the one or other.”

 

“The protection of the city –“ Meredith tried again.

 

“If this continues, there will be no one left to protect, because most will have starved to death,” Fenris snarled. “What will the nobles do if there’s no servant left to tend to their petty needs?”

 

Alistair fought a smirk at that. “From my experience, Knight-Commander,” he addressed a now openly furious Meredith, “becoming a Templar is a matter of vocation, not the right amount of coin paid every month. Naturally, that might have changed over the past few years. I, myself, left the Chantry before taking my vows but I do remember the Grand Cleric preaching daily that the desire to serve as Templar stems from an inner calling. She liked to believe the Maker himself whispered into our ear at nights.” He nodded at Bran. “The taxes must be lowered immediately. I agree with the Champion, it is the best solution I see for the moment.”

 

“Your majesty,” Bran acknowledged the king’s decision.

 

“Next – I am worried about the situation in the alienage in Lowtown,” Alistair said with a sigh. “I am familiar with the problems seeing as it was no different in Denerim, until a few years ago. The elves living there don’t trust anyone wearing an armor, mostly because they had been disappointed and let down in the past. From what I hear, slavers keep coming for them at night too, taking away the youngest ones, including children.”

 

“I shall see to having Lowtown patrolled more regularly,” Meredith said.

 

“I was told the Templars have been turning a blind eye on the matter, despite the fact that the slavers are often accompanied by blood mages,” Alistair pointed out.

 

“Then I shall endeavor to find out which of my Templars are concerned and have them removed from the order.”

 

“That is fair, seeing as they are your responsibility,” Hawke agreed. “Maybe the Templars would like to collaborate with the Guardsmen on this matter.”

 

Meredith’s face fell a little, but she seemed to finally understand the rules of the ‘game’ and nodded. “I will have words with their Captain.”

 

“Good, I am glad you two agree on the matter,” Alistair said with a smile. “My next concern is the Circle.”

 

“Oh, did Orsino come crying to you?” Meredith asked. “All he ever does lately is complain about their situation, which apparently never bothered them until the Champion’s friend started causing trouble.”

 

“I fail to see how demanding the same rights as everyone else is causing trouble,” Hawke replied.

 

“The Chantry is very clear on the role of mages.”

 

“Is it?” Hawke snorted, arms crossing in a defensive manner. “Anders’ ideas were not wrong. How he went about them sometimes, maybe, I will give you that, but with everyone turning a blind eye and deaf ear to his propositions, he hardly saw any other way to go about it.”

 

“He helped potentially dangerous people escape the Circle. If any of them turn to blood magic and summon demons, it’ll be on his and your head, Champion,” Meredith pointed out.

 

“Do you have proof that any of them are potentially dangerous?” Alistair inquired. “Have they secretly practiced blood mages while still in the Circle? Did they pass their Harrowing?”

 

“Every mage still in the Circle passed their Harrowing, yes,” Meredith confirmed. “I am aware that one of my late Templars took his fanatic beliefs too far by wanting to force Tranquility on every single mage in Thedas and he paid with it for his life.” She glanced at Hawke. “From what I hear, by the hands of a certain apostate.”

 

“Rumors,” Varric piped up. “Probably stemming from mages taking hero whorship for a _certain_ apostate a little too far.”

 

Hawke sighed inwardly, glad for Varric’s quick reaction. “There’s more to the mages objecting against their treatment in the Circles, Knight-Commander, and I am sure you know about that, too.”

 

“Well, I don’t. Enlighten me, please,” Alistair encouraged.

 

Hawke exchanged a glance with Fenris.

 

“I will not speak of it without his consent,” Fenris objected. “It wouldn’t be right.”

 

“Yeah, well, seeing as the king took him into custody, we can’t very well ask him, can we?” Hawke asked and he could see Fenris fight a smirk.

 

Alistair cleared his throat at, looking uncomfortable suddenly. “I believe I know what you are talking about. I have heard about it from the Warden Commander after Anders confessed to him.”

 

“Confessed what?” Meredith snarled.

  
“Rape. Abuse. Just to name the two most important things, that is,” Hawke stated humourlessly.

 

To his surprise, Meredith looked stunned at the revelation. “Are you saying that…?”

 

“An issue not only Kirkwall deals with, obviously, since Anders had not been subjected to that kind of treatment here but in the Circle of Ferelden,” Hawke confirmed. “But yes, we have heard about it here, too, which was one of the reasons why Anders fought so hard for the freedom of mages. From what I hear, Ser Alrik and Ser Karras take immense pleasure in treating mages like cheap whores.”

 

“Or body slaves,” Fenris muttered.

 

“I—“ Meredith seemed lost for words.

 

“You will investigate this matter,” Alistair told her. “If the mages do not feel comfortable speaking to you or the First Enchanter, send them to me instead.”

 

“Yes, your majesty.”

 

“As it is,” Alistair continued, “not only Kirkwall’s mages have spoken up against life in the Circle. It is an issue and one that I do understand. Obviously, changes are necessary but it cannot be done from one day to another, especially considering the Chantry’s view on the matter. What can be done here will be done. I would also like to see the two Templars the Champion just named taken into custody and questioned.”

 

“I will see to it the second I leave for the Gallows,” Meredith promised and she did sound sincere. Hawke wondered what Anders would say, were he here with them right now. Hawke itched to ask Meredith about the trap she had planned to set up for them.

 

Alistair leaned back in his seat, regarding Meredith and Hawke for a moment. “You continually speak of the need to protect the city, Knight-Commander,” he began. “It honors you that you want Kirkwall’s residents safe and will not hesitate to take drastic measures if the situation calls for it. Alas, from what I see, you have not exactly earned people’s trust or favor, not with the decisions made during the past few years and especially not yesterday when you and Hawke faced each other for the first time. Further, I do not see how you’ll be able to protect the city as you have been doing until now and _rule_ it at the same time.” Alistair gestured at Hawke. “The Champion of Kirkwall does have the trust and favor, not only of the nobles but the rest of the city as well. Even the poor, whom he has treated with the same respect as everyone else, from what I hear in Kirkwall’s streets. He may not be a politician but then again, some people also weren’t born _king_ and still proved themselves capable. And his companions you look upon so poorly, it seems, played an important role in the Champion’s history within this very city and have supported him and his decisions. Someone will always be unhappy with administration’s decisions, believe me, I know that all too well. He has the right heart and mind and wants the best for his hometown, much like you. My humble suggestion is, that the two of you should collaborate as well, just like Hawke suggested the Templars and Guardsmen do. Help him protect the city, because no one will argue that you have been doing a good job in the past. Leave the post of viscount to someone who seems capable enough in my eyes to do it and wants to protect Kirkwall as much as you do.”

 

Meredith’s mouth opened and closed a few times, words refusing to come.

 

Fenris glanced up to Hawke, who seemed to have gone a little pale at Alistair’s speech. Varric grinned and winked at the elf.

 

“Garrett Hawke,” Alistair spoke up again, voice steady and clear, “I hereby appoint you Viscount of Kirkwall.”


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh...I guess this kind of another filling chapter?

Whispers crept into his peaceful sleep, beckoning, enchanting, calling out for him. He couldn’t make out the words but felt a pull in the core of his being and knew they were meant for him and his instincts both told him to follow _and_ flee.

 

His naked form curled into a fetal position beneath the blanket covering him, the smell of dust giving way to the smell of burn, blood and devastation. The whispers increased in volume, the sound shifting from alluring to harsh and demanding.

 

_You are called upon._

 

Anders eyes blinked open and he was momentarily confused about the location before he remembered the abandoned estate and the reasons that had brought him here. It was dark outside, darker than it should be. He couldn’t have slept away the day; Fenris would be here by now.

 

Wrapping the dusty sheets around his tall, naked form, Anders slowly moved off his bed, his limbs aching. The last time he’d felt like this, he’d been fighting Darkspawn all day long in the Deep Road tunnels beneath Vigil’s Keep.

 

He moved to the window and slowly pulled the curtains aside.

 

Anders was greeted by the sight of flames and ashes, bodies scattered across the streets, burned beyond recognition. There were shadows with no distinct shapes scurrying between the fragments of what once had been Kirkwall. The terrified scream caught in Anders’ throat, clogging his breathing.

 

Hastily, he dropped the sheets, searched for his clothes to get dressed, not even bothering tieing up his shirt as he grabbed his staff and rushed down the creaking stairs.

 

“Nate?” he called out. “Mael? Zevran?” He received no answer. “ _Anyone_?” he tried again, desperately as he reached the foot of the staircase. One look around the foyer told him that no one had been here in a long while.

 

Anders tore open the door, coughing at the air thickened with smoke and the sickening smell of burned flesh. The scorching heat made him feel like his own body was on fire.

 

_You are called upon_. _Obey your lord. Gather, my dark children_.

 

The Spirit Healer shook his head, banning the voice from his mind as he took one step, then another, his free hand trying to shield his face from the incredible heat that made his eyes squint and dry. _Destruction, death_. There was nothing left of the city he had come to call home.

 

“Fenris?” he shouted. _Someone. Anyone. Please._ “Fenris!”

 

The only answer he received was a bloodcurdling screech in the distance, answered by more screeches from all around him.

 

_The blood of the sacrifices that seeps into the stone here shall be the only truth we reveal in the end._

 

The lack of clear air to breathe made him dizzy, yet Anders marched on stubbornly, clutching his staff like a lifeline. The distant screeches increased, drew nearer and he hastily glanced around, ready to strike down whatever would attack him.

 

“Where are you?” he murmured. “Where is everyone? How did this happen?”

 

A figure emerged from the shadows, colossal and its steps heavy. Angry snorting reached his eyes and Anders stopped walking, eyes on the creature only a few feet away from him. Dark red eyes glowed at him, a deep growl making the ground beneath him vibrate. It held something in one enormous paw and Anders sank to the ground when he recognized the crushed body, now nothing more than a mass of flesh and broken bones.

 

“No,” he pleaded.

 

_No. No. No!_

_NO!_

 

He awoke with a scream. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, holding him down and Anders struggled, then reached out and grabbed the creature’s thick neck, squeezing. A choked sound reached his ears that sounded like his name.

  
“Get away from me!” Anders shouted at it, tightening the grip of his hands further.

 

Something hit him in the face and he felt the bridge of his nose crack under the force. Stars danced in front of his eyes as he released the creature, hands covering his face instead. Blood, oozy and hot, ran down his face, dripping into his mouth. Anders choked and rolled to his side.

 

“Maker’s breath,” a hoarse voice exclaimed. “What in the Void did you do _that_ for?”

 

“You should know better than to rouse a Grey Warden from his nightmares by holding him down,” a much calmer voice replied.

 

“He was ready to tear the place apart!”

 

_It was only a dream_.

 

With a pained groan, Anders forced himself to relax. He could feel his own magic lingering in the thick air of the room and could only imagine its reaction to the nightmare he just went through.

  
“Anders?” the calm voice inquired. “You back with us?”

  
“Andraste’s _knickerweasels_ , I thought I was past this,” Anders grunted out, wincing when speaking caused his broken nose to throb even worse.

 

“Not used to it anymore, eh?” the hoarse voice asked.

  
“ _Fuck_ but that hurts…” Anders took a few calming breaths, then carefully let healing magic fix up the damage on his nose. The bleeding stopped and once the pain had subsided, he dared a glance around. Nathaniel sat at the foot of the bed, rubbing his neck; the mage could see bruises forming already. Mael stood next to the bed, looking at him curiously. Slowly, Anders sat up and gestured for Nathaniel to come closer so he could take care of the damage he’d caused to his fellow warden’s neck. “Sorry about that,” he murmured, offering a sheepish smile.

 

Nathaniel blushed a little while the mage’s healing magic let bruises fade and the muscles of his throat recover from the strain. “I guess it _was_ my own fault,” he muttered.

 

“What did you see?” Mael asked. “We heard you calling our names and when we got up here, you were trashing around on the bed.”

 

“Kirkwall gone…heard screeches…saw a…” Anders shuddered. “Saw an ogre.” _Holding Fenris’ lifeless, crushed body in his paw._ Bile rose up in his throat and he swallowed a few times to avoid throwing up.

 

“Gone?”

 

“Burned to the ground. No one survived…I was alone and this estate the only building still standing…” Anders shook his head. “There were whispers.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“We heard them, too,” Nathaniel confirmed, “but we couldn’t determine the source.”

 

“Are you alright now?” Mael asked the Spirit Healer. “I don’t know what you almost summoned here but it didn’t feel very… _friendly_.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Anders murmured. “My magic never went crazy before during nightmares…I don’t know.” He paused. “There were no demons or anything, right?”

 

“No, thank the Maker,” Nathaniel grunted.

 

 

Loud cheering outside caught their attention and Anders jumped when the Chantry bells suddenly began to toll, making the rundown estate vibrate and the windows clink. The cheering increased; people were gathering and Mael risked a glance outside.

  
“What’s going on?” Anders asked then the bells slowly quieted.

 

“It would seem Kirkwall has a new viscout,” Mael informed the mage after listening to the people outside for a moment.

 

Amber eyes widened, hopeful. “Alistair appointed one of them, you think?”

 

“I don’t think, I _know_ ,” the Warden Commander replied easily.

 

In an instant, Anders was off the bed, almost knocking Nathaniel over in the process and joined Mael by the window. “Who? Did they say?” he asked excitedly.

 

Mael chuckled. “Alistair wouldn’t _dare_ making you angry.”

 

Anders blinked at the Warden Commander.

 

“Before he left this morning, we discussed the matter. We figured having a Grey Warden in Kirkwall, not too far from an outpost, a Grey Warden prison, wouldn’t be too bad of an idea to keep us updated all across Thedas,” Mael said, keeping his voice low. “Obviously, we cannot achieve that if we can’t ensure your safety if Knight-Commander Stannard is appointed viscount, because she’ll hunt you down, probably first thing, according to her own words when Alistair met up with you at the Keep yesterday.”

 

Anders’ eyes lit up at that. “Hawke will make a great viscout!” he assured with a wide smile.

 

“To be honest, I couldn’t care less about who is viscount of Kirkwall,” Mael said with a sigh. “But Hawke does seem like a decent man and this city could use someone with a bit of a brain after everything that went on here.”

 

“What should we do about the…whispers?” Nathaniel spoke up behind them. “Should we investigate?”

 

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” the Warden Commander admitted. “Nothing Anders saw in his dream gives us a direction. It obviously did not come from within the city, it was more from a distance.”

 

“And I can’t go anywhere,” Anders reminded Nathaniel.

 

“The Grey Warden prison?”

 

“Oh, I guess I could go _there_ ,” the mage said. “By nightfall.”

 

“You’re not going anywhere until you’re all sorted out,” Mael objected. Anders floundered at the words. “Not to say you wouldn’t be a tremendous help or that I wouldn’t feel better having an excellent Spirit Healer around, but I will not risk you becoming a liability. If you react so violently to nightmares brought on by the same whispers Nate and I heard, I don’t want to imagine what will happen if you go with us.”

 

“Do we have time for that?” Nathaniel asked doubtfully.

 

“We’ll take the time,” Mael decided. “We haven’t heard back from the Wardens I sent ahead, yet. We’ll give them another day or two. If we don’t receive word for them, we’ll know something really bad is going on and then I want to be prepared.”

 

Anders sighed. “I’m sorry…” he murmured.

 

“It’s not your fault.” Mael smiled encouragingly at him. “Let’s hope we can fix it.”

 

 

~*~

 

Fenris watched Zevran step out of his hiding place the moment Knight-Commander Meredith left the Seneschal’s office in a hurry, her self-control slowly crumbling away. A sharp dagger was quickly sheathed, the Antivan’s stance relaxing. It unnerved Fenris that he had not been aware of the rogue’s presence the entire time. He had wondered, yes, when he’d left Anders’ side this morning and only found Mael and Nathaniel in the foyer; when he had not seen Fenris accompanying Hawke, Varric and Alistair, he figured this Zevran was off taking care of something.

 

He’d been almost right – Fenris just hadn’t considered the possibility of the elf hiding in the Seneschal’s office, keeping an eye on the king. No doubt on the Warden Commander’s request.

 

“Viscount Hawke,” Seneschal Bran addressed the warrior, a little uneasy. “Anything I can do for now?”

 

People outside were cheering loudly, welcoming their new viscount. Fenris exchanged a look with Varric, who was grinning smugly and the elf knew they both thought the same that moment: Anders was going to fall over himself when he received the news.

 

When Hawke didn’t reply, Fenris gave his companion a gentle shove with his elbow. “Hawke?”

 

“Uh…” Garrett Hawke was staring wide-eyed at Alistair, who offered an amused smile in reply.

  
“The Seneschal is waiting,” the king informed Hawke.

 

“I, uh…please find out which matters are currently the most urgent and I will see to them first,” Hawke stammered. Bran inclined his head and left the room with quick strides.

 

“Congratulations,” Varric said cheerfully.

  
“I hate politics,” Hawke grumbled.

 

“Know what _that’s_ like,” Alistair said with a sigh.

 

“Is it too early to ask to have our mage returned to us?” Hawke retorted with a chuckle. “Or will he remain in your custody, your majesty?”

 

“ _Maker_ no, he’s a handful,” Alistair replied with a crooked smile. “He should be careful, though. The Knight-Commander does not seem to be the type of person to give up easily.”

 

“Well, neither is Fenris,” Varric teased. The elf in question scowled at him. “She’ll have a hard time getting past him, first.”

 

“I have no doubt of that.” Slowly, Alistair got up from his seat and stretched. “Zevran, why don’t you go and deliver the good news to the rest of our endearing little group? I should  be safe for now.”

 

“With all due respect, but you know how scary our dear Warden Commander can be, yes?” Zevran asked with a smirk. “His orders were clear.”

 

“And you follow them since _when_ , again?”

 

“You wound me, Alistair.”

 

Alistair snorted, but offered Zevran a fond smile. “Have it your way then, you pain in the ass.”

 

“That an offer?”

 

“Remember, you just said how scary Mael can be?”

 

Zevran winked at that.

 

“I’ll take care of that,” Varric offered. “I know people.”

 

“You probably know all of Thedas,” Hawke muttered.

 

“Which will surely be to an advantage of you, Viscount Hawke.”

 

“Ugh!”

 

“I shall go and deliver the news,” Fenris said. “Unless you have further need of me, Hawke?”

 

“I know how scary _Anders_ can be,” Hawke pointed out. Fenris huffed, then chuckled, an amused smile spreading on his lips.

 

“And Meredith might have someone follow you, if you take off now,” Varric added. “Let me send someone to the Warden Commander and your precious mage, although I am sure they have heard the good news by now.”

 

“I always thought all dwarves do is drink and start fights,” Zevran said. “This one is quite decent, yes? And beardless, too!”

 

“Do not compare me to my underground relatives, I couldn’t be more different from them if I tried,” Varric said with a chuckle, then offered a slight bow to Hawke and left the room as well.

 

“What’s next?” Hawke asked after a moment.

 

“Well, you’ll be busy, I gather,” Alistair said. “I have no doubt the Seneschal will be quick to return with a list of the most urgent matters. Now that we got this out of the way, I am sure Mael would prefer to take care of Anders’ issues as soon as possible.”

 

“I found the elven mage in the alienage, early this morning and she left immediately with Mika to seek out the Keeper,” Zevran said. “I expect her back soon.”

 

“Merrill?” Hawke asked. “You went to see Merrill?”

 

“Not precisely, but I did go to the alienage in order to find someone who would deliver a message to dear Keeper Marethari,” Zevran explained. “I found her by the tree and recognized her from when we went to the Brecilian Forest, years ago, to demand the aid of the elves against the Blight.”

 

“Ah, good times,” Alistair said wistfully. “Maybe we should have taken our time finding and killing the archdemon? Just imagine the fun we could have had!”

 

“Oh, you surely had a lot of fun and I am not talking Darkspawn, my dear Alistair,” Zevran said with a smirk. Alistair blushed furiously at that, muttering insults under his breath that elicited a delighted chuckle from the Antivan elf.

 

“You think she will collaborate with Hawke?” Fenris asked. “The Knight-Commander?”

 

“We will have to wait and see, but she surely was not pleased about my decision,” Alistair replied with a shrug. “I am hoping she can see past her…attitude…has she always been like this?”

 

“Varric mentioned not too long ago that even the Templars were confused about her behavior lately,” Hawke remarked. “Anders mentioned her becoming more and more of a threat lately, but that was before he…well…had that _accident_.”

 

“Accident?” Fenris huffed.

  
“You know what I mean.”

  
“Mages always feel threatened in the presence of Templars, a fact I know all too well,” Alistair said. “And I can’t really blame them for it, either.”

 

“Do you think mages should be free?” Fenris wanted to know.

 

The King of Ferelden sighed at that. “I have seen what mages can do. And by that, I mean both, in a positive _and_ a negative way. Many are actually happy to spend their life at the Circle and I doubt Anders would argue that they get excellent education and training there. Circle mages fought with us in Ostagar and they all got their knowledge from being in the Circles.” He shrugged. “I’m sure there’s almost as many apostates in Thedas as there are mages in the Circles. Should they all be dragged out of their homes and away from their families for the rest of their lives? No, I don’t really believe that. Many despair over it and many will take to more drastic measures in order to be reunited with their families. A notion I can understand. Should they be treated like monsters? No. Do some of them need to be watched because they are a way too easy target for demons? Yes. I believe the solution is somewhere in the middle.” He smiled at Hawke. “Maybe Anders can come up with some more…pacifistic ideas concerning mage rights?”

 

Hawke chuckled at that. “I’ll be sure to ask him.”

 

Fenris moved over to the window and looked outside. The square in front of the Keep was filled with people, calling out for their new viscount. He wondered how much would change now. A lot of things for the better, of that Fenris had no doubt. But if Hawke indeed considered making changes about Kirkwall’s Circle, with the help and suggestions of Anders, what would that entail? Would it bring more danger? Would he feel comfortable in a place where mages walked freely, like in Tevinter? Just because Fenris was bedding a mage, developing strong feelings for one, didn’t mean he was _comfortable_ being surrounded by them. One mage was just enough to handle and despite Kirkwall not being Tevinter, he had already seen enough foul deeds by the hands of mages in the years he’d spent in this city. Like that elf they had ended up finding in Darktown, another escapee from the Circle that had gotten out through the help of the Mage Underground the Spirit Healer had brought to life and until recently supported. Corrupted, summoning demons, openly displaying his thirst for _power_. Sacrificing his own wife. Fenris could have understood if that elven mage had wanted his freedom to be with his wife again, have a family and live hidden in the alienage, much like Merrill, but he had not hesitated killing her to use her blood to summon demons that they had to strike down before ending his life.

 

How many more would become like him, given the chance? Not all of them steered clear of blood magic or the desire for _more_ , like Anders did. Then again, had Anders not once displayed the same desires, when he’d joined with Justice?

 

No. Fenris paused. Anders had explained _why_ that happened. At least, partly. The very same reason why so many mages here wanted to escape or looked for ways to protect themselves. Could they be blamed for that?

 

“Fenris? Do you think Anders would be comfortable attending when we speak to the mages about the abuses by Templar hands?” Hawke asked the elf.

 

“Comfortable? No.” Fenris glanced at Hawke across his shoulders. “But I have no doubt the mage will want to be there when they are being questioned.”

 


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke learns something about his father; Fenris learns about the Calling.  
> Anders is taken to Keeper Marethari in hope she can help.  
> Uhm...get ready for a ride for the next...two to three chapters...we're entering Phase "omg what did she do"
> 
>  
> 
> Translations at the bottom :)  
> Once again - thank you all so VERY much for the kudos and comments!
> 
>  
> 
> \---

A storm was brewing atop Sundermount and Fenris glanced at the dark clouds. It had been particularly hot these past few days, summer taking a strong hold of Kirkwall for one last time before autumn would arrive and the heat and humidity had gathered to soon unleash another strong thunderstorm on the area. Fenris didn’t think it had been particularly wise to leave the safety of the city to climb up mountais and right into the heart of the brewing storm, but the Warden Commander had insisted time was running out and Merrill had assured they’d be safe.

 

None of the Wardens sent to the prison had returned and no message had been delivered to the Warden Commander. Varric had sent a spy of his up to the Deep Roads to investigate and the spy had not been seen since either. What did reach them were news of a group of Carta dwarves behaving strangely and gathering near the prison, only a group of them breaking into Hawke’s estate two nights ago in search of the Viscount. It had been pure luck, Fenris thought, that Hawke was now at Viscount’s Keep most of the time and safe for Orana getting the scare of her life, no one had been harmed. The mabari, Rogue, had killed two of them in order to protect his home, otherwise they would have never found out about the intrusion.

 

This incident had forced the Warden Commander and Alistair to finally reveal Hawke’s connection to the Grey Warden prison and the truth about his father, Malcolm Hawke, who, with the help of a Templar – much to Anders’ bafflement – had escaped the Circle to run away with Hawke’s mother, Leandra, to start a family after it was revealed she was pregnant with his child. Fenris did not miss the look of hope crossing Anders’ face and the amber eyes saying ‘ _So, it **is** possible_ ’. Even more astounding was the revelation that it was thanks to the Grey Wardens, a Commander named Larius in particular, to whom the Hawke family ended up owing their freedom, helping Leandra and Malcom to leave everyone behind for good and be free.

 

The prize Malcolm paid for it had been high, though and Fenris felt a chill run down his spine when Garrett Hawke voiced that _prize_ out loud.

 

“ _Blood_ magic?” Garrett bellowed across the hills. “You forced him to use _blood magic_?”

 

“Hey now,” Alistair said defensively, “ _we_ had no part in this. I don’t even know who this Larius is and I thought Duncan had told me about every Grey Warden Commander in Thedas.”

 

“Not to mention I surely would have chosen a different way than exposing any mage to something that might lead to them becoming a threat,” Mael added.

 

“What exactly was it that they needed Hawke’s father for?” Anders asked.

 

“Apparently, something was bound within the prison by spells that were weakening and needed to be renewed,” Mael explained. “We couldn’t find much information about what it is exactly or the prison and its inhabitants in general.”

 

“One of too many well-kept Grey Warden secrets, it would seem,” Alistair said with a crooked smile. “When news arrived about the prison and something bad going on there, we had Wardens search every book and every slip of paper we could possibly find but nothing they could come up with told us what to expect.”

 

“If it required blood magic, it must be something very powerful,” Merrill spoke up. She was leading their group to the Dalish Camp; they had met up near the exit leading from Kirkwall to Soundermount after word arrived Marethari was willing to see and possibly help Anders, if she could. “Oh, and old! Very old.”

 

“Archdemon kinda old?” Alistair asked with a groan.

 

“No Warden can be so stupid to keep an archdemon in a place,” Mael pointed out dryly. “Right?”

 

Alistair shrugged and Mael huffed in response.

 

“Another Blight?” Hawke asked, worriedly.

  
“According to the books and tales, two more archdemons are waiting to rise,” Alistair explained. “The Darkspawn would need to find them first, though. Seeing as whatever they locked up in that prison was _before_ the Fifth Blight and the rise of Urthemiel, I highly doubt that what will await us is his successor.”

 

“You’re not going anywhere near that prison,” Mael informed Alistair. “You have a kingdom to lead.”

 

“Booooring,” Alistair complained immediately. “Do you want me to grow old and fat on a throne, love?”

 

“I doubt that,” Anders said with a grin. “Taint and everything, remember?”

 

“If I’m lucky, I get somewhat old before my Calling comes.”

 

“Calling?” Fenris finally joined the conversation. “What does that mean?”

 

Anders frowned at the elf. Alistair quirked an eyebrow at the Spirit Healer. “You didn’t tell him?”

 

“Considering that for most of the time that we’ve known each other, Fenris wanted to see me dead, I had no desire to tell him his wish will be granted sooner or later,” Anders pointed out.

 

Fenris growled at his mage, one hand gripping a slender wrist tightly. “Talk. Now!”

 

“When Wardens are conscripted, they have to undergo the Joining to become full members of the Grey Warden order,” Mael replied in place of Anders. “The Grey Wardens obtain their powers through that particular ritual. We have to drink something specifically made for this purpose. One ‘ingredient’ is Darkspawn blood.”

 

Hawke made a face. “You drink tainted blood?”

  
“Yes.”

 

“What about the Blight sickness?”

 

“We have it. All of us.” Mael gave a half-smile. “It’s just delayed. As soon as we drink it and manage to overcome the corruption inside us, it’s giving us the power we need to fight Darkspawn and end Blights, but it also cuts short our lifespan dramatically.”

 

There was a momentarily silence and Fenris felt nausea unfurl inside his stomach. “How long?” he eventually heard himself whisper, although he really didn’t want to know the answer.

 

“No one knows for sure,” Alistair replied gently. “Some make it ten years, some twenty, some thirty. Some even longer. But eventually, the really bad nightmares come and a Grey Warden knows it’s time. It’s a Grey Warden ritual that they will then get on their way to the Deep Roads.”

 

“For what purpose?” Hawke asked.

 

“Fight Darkspawn until you’re exhausted and they manage to overpower you,” Anders replied. “We go down but at least we do so _gloriously_.”

 

“That’s…terrible,” Hawke offered thoughtfully. “Is there no way to…you know… _undo_ that?”

 

“I have heard of someone who managed,” Mael said. “Whether or not it is true, I cannot tell.”

 

 

Fenris pulled Anders aside with a growl, letting the rest of their group walk ahead. As soon as they were far away enough for his liking, his green eyes fixed on the mage. “How long?”

 

“How long what?” Anders asked quietly.

 

“How long has it been since _your_ Joining?”

 

“Almost six years.”

 

Fenris exhaled loudly, loosening his tight grip on the mage’s wrist. “When did you plan on telling me about this?” he asked.

 

At that, Anders smiled sadly. “Fenris, I didn’t think I would _ever_ have to plan on telling anyone.”

 

 _I didn’t expect there to be someone who needs to know_ _that I will not grow old with them_.

 

Fenris regarded the mage with remorse, the pointed tips of his ears dropping a little.

 

“We still have time,” Anders said gently, trying to sound reassuring. “That is, if you want to...”

 

Fenris huffed and turned on his heels, his hand now grabbing Anders’, fingers entwining and he tugged. “Let’s get moving again. I wish to reach that Dalish Camp before the storm breaks loose.”

 

 

~*~

 

Despite Keeper Marethari always telling them that the Dalish would not linger forever on Sundermount, it turned out they had made that spot on the mountain a more permanent home. Aravels were still spotted, tents that had been there before, but Anders could spot the one or other hut, providing more solid shelter from the unruly Vimmarks weather.

 

Rain had started to fall as soon as the Dalish camp had come into sight; thunder clapped loudly above them in greeting when two Dalish hunters hastily went to call for the Keeper when they spotted their visitors. The closer they got to Marethari’s tent, the more Merrill tensed up. Several more Dalish appeared, eyeing the blood mage with repulse. Giving into the urge to do _something_ , Anders walked up to Merrill and hesitantly wrapped an arm around her tiny frame. Merrill glanced up to him, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

 

“I know what it’s like,” Anders told her quietly and she nodded.

 

“Ah, there you are!” Zevran appeared next to the Keeper. “I just got here myself after searching the area. It would seem we are safe, yes? For the time being. Did you know there’s an entrance to the Deep Roads, not too far from here?”

 

“Is there any place you _won’t_ find an entrance to the Deep Roads?” Hawke asked with a chuckle.

 

“Most likely not,” Alistair agreed. “They are everywhere.”

  
“We’ll know ahead of time if any Darkspawn plans to cause trouble,” Mael murmured, then stepped up to Keeper Marethari and bowed his head in greeting. “Aneth ara,” he said.

 

“Andaran atish’an, Falon,” Marethari greeted in return. “I welcome you, Hero of Ferelden and your companions. It has been a long time.”

 

“It has,” Mael agreed. “And again, we come in an hour of need although I wished we would just make a social visit.”

 

Marethari smiled at that.

  
“Aneth ara, Keeper,” Merrill spoke up quietly.

  
“Merrill, my Child,” Marethari greeted. “And the Champion of Kirkwall.”

 

“Keeper Marethari.”

 

“I heard you were appointed Viscout of Kirkwall,” Marethari said. “Not an easy task you have burdened yourself with, Child.”

 

“You can say that again,” Hawke said with a grin.

 

“And the King of Ferelden,” Marethari acknowledged Alistair. “You are far away from home, Alistair.”

 

Alistair shrugged. “Not as far as you think,” he replied suggestively. The Keeper’s eyes twinkled in amusement as she glanced at Mael. The Warden Commander gave a small huff and Hawke chuckled when he found himself reminded of their very own prickly elf who was by Anders’ side, holding his hand tightly.

 

“You remember Anders, Hahren,” Merrill said as she gestured at the Spirit Healer. “He is the one we have spoken of.”

 

“Indeed I do,” Marethari said with a nod and stepped forward, right into Anders’ personal space. The Spirit Healer took a hesitate step back, then remained frozen to the spot as the Keeper studied him for a long moment, a frown on her face that gradually deepened. “You are in a turmoil, Da’len,” she said eventually. “ _Setheneran_.”

 

“What does that mean?” Fenris asked when Merrill looked concerned at the word.

 

“Step away from him, Da’len,” Marethari told the Tevinter elf. “Let me take a better look.”

 

Fenris scowled at her.

 

“Do as she says, lethallin,” Merrill said. “Please?”

 

Reluctantly, Fenris let go of Anders’ hand and moved away. Marethari raised a hand, placing it carefully on Anders’ forehead. Anders felt a spark, searching, delving deep. A sharp pain was the answer and the Spirit Healer grunted before pulling away, staggering a little as he did.

 

“You have not attempted to heal yourself ever since you have woken up,” Marethari said.

 

“No,” Anders confirmed. “I didn’t think it was too good of an idea.”

 

“And you were right about that, Da’len, as it cannot be _healed_ ,” the Keeper agreed with a nod.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Hawke asked, concerned.

 

“ _Setheneran_ ,” Merrill repeated the word Marethari had used before. “It means _place where the Veil is thin_ , in Common tongue,” she explained.

 

“Like with Connor?” Alistair asked Mael quietly, bringing back memories of the unfortunate events in Redcliff. The Warden Commander shook his head, a worried look on his face.

 

“What does that mean for the mage?” Fenris asked.

 

“We will have to find out,” Marethari said. “I see you brought your staff, Child. I would like to try something, if one of your friends feels brave enough to face you in combat.”

 

“Combat?” Anders asked, incredulously. “No.”

 

Mael and Alistair exchanged a glance and a wide smile spread on the king’s face. “Oh, I’m game.”

 

~*~

 

There was hesitation in his movements as Anders whirled his staff a few times. Alistair regarded the Spirit Healer with gleeful anticipation, Mael ready to intervene at any point, only a few steps behind the King of Ferelden.

 

“This is not a good idea,” Anders said once again.

 

“Oh, come on!” Alistair encouraged cheerfully. “It’s been years since I had a good fight. Indulge me?”

 

Anders huffed. “You do know I could seriously hurt you, yes?”

 

“You can try,” the human challenged with a smirk. He steadied the grip on his sword. “Ready?”

 

“Maker help me,” the Spirit Healer muttered under his breath. Alistair chose that moment to charge, the sharp end of his sword missing the mage’s face by a hair’s breadth. Anders staggered backwards when Alistair attacked yet again, this time blocking the sword with a strong barrier that send them both stumbling from the force of it.

 

“Interesting,” Alistair mused. “Let’s try that again.”

 

Alistair meant serious business now and something roared to life inside Anders, making his staff glow. The sword kept coming, taking turns with the man’s shield, aiming to strike Anders down and he found himself parading every single attack, his barrier spell increasing in power each time he cast it. Recalling what he had learned in the blighted Circle, years ago, Anders created an Arcane shield, keeping away Alistair’s continued attacks.

 

Alistair was panting harshly by the time he gave up trying to break through the Arcane shield. “You can keep that one up quite a long time,” he remarked breathlessly. “Aren’t you getting tired?”

 

Anders paused at that, letting the shield disappear and allowing the two of them a break. Not only their friends but several Dalish had gathered to watch them. The storm had moved on to Kirkwall before unleashing its full force on the Dalish Camp, followed by clouds and pale sunlight that now flooded the terrain.

 

“No,” he replied after a moment.

 

“You still have mana left? After all that?” Alistair looked at him in disbelief. “Maker’s breath but you are strong.”

 

Magic was pulsing through his body just like his blood. Inexhaustibly, it seemed.

 

“Keep going!” Mael called. “Marethari said until he’s tired out. His mana will be used up eventually.”

 

“I shall assist Alistair, yes?” Zevran suggested as he drew his daggers. Mael nodded at him.

 

Maker, how could Marethari possibly think this was a good idea?

 

Alistair and Zevran attacked at the same time and Anders cast another barrier. It vibrated under the combined force of the warrior and the rogue and Anders added more force to it.

 

“Do not just defend yourself, Anders,” Marethari spoke up. “You have more than that in your repertoire. Strike back.”

 

Anders took a deep breath, barrier still in check, his mind making a quick decision. Whirling his staff to collect and concentrate energy within, he quickly aimed and sent Zevran to the ground with a rather forceful Spirit Strike. The rogue grunted in pain, clutching at his chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Anders stammered.

 

“Alistair, NOW!” Mael barked.

 

Alistair’s Smite hit Anders like a brick wall. The barrier shattered, sending him staggering and he only barely managed to remain on his feet. The force of the Smite vibrated through his entire body; instead of dissipating, Anders felt his magic flare up stronger than before.

 

“Go on,” Mael encouraged. With a grunt, Alistair complied, concentrating for the moment it took Anders to recover.

 

The Spirit Healer knew what was coming before it even hit him and fear gripped his heart in a cold fist when he recalled the times in his life he had had the displeasure of being on the receiving end of that attack, the emptiness that followed, the helplessness.

 

“Don’t!” Anders heard Hawke bark but it was too late for Alistair to stop what he was doing.

 

It hit Anders, stronger than the Smite had and for a moment, he felt like he was turned inside out, eyes wide in disbelief that Alistair had actually _silenced_ him. Disconnection settled in as the touch of the Fade left Anders, leaving him empty, devoid of feeling anything, even pain. He could feel his knees give in and Anders stubbonly held on to his staff for support.

 

“How was that?” Alistair asked. His voice sounded distant now and Anders’ head spun.

 

“That should have done it,” Mael agreed.

 

_No._

 

From one moment to the next, Anders felt like he was on fire, Fade powers returning like a tidal wave, coursing through his body and filling every fiber of his being. Before Alistair had a chance to react, Anders charged at him with a shout, swinging his stuff, casting another Spirit Strike, this time directed at the human. Alistair had the mere wits to raise his shield split seconds before it hit him and sent him flying across the wide field, past Mael who looked positively stunned.

 

Anders was panting as he collected himself, eyes wild and filled with anger.

 

“How…?”

 

The Dalish elves that had gathered took a respectful step back.

 

“What in the _name_ of the Maker--” Anders aimed the blade end of his staff at Alistair. “-- _possessed_ you to allow Alistair to use his _Templar_ abilities on me, Commander?” he spat at Mael.

 

_You knew he’d betray you one day. They all do, eventually. Have you learned nothing?_

_Shut up!_

 

“Keeper Marethari was clear when she said anything to exhaust you,” Mael replied calmly. “Since your mana seemed inexhaustible, this was one of things we could try.”

 

Alistair groaned when he sat up slowly, dropping sword and shield to the ground. “Maker’s _balls_ , that hurt,” he complained.

 

“You deserved that,” Anders let him know, his voice as steely as his entire composure had become now.

 

Fenris recognized Vengeance immediately as it began to vibrate within the mage’s tall form, cracks of blue barely shimmering through pale skin. The atmosphere around them changed, making his skin tingle. Marethari and Merrill stepped forward, now watchful.

 

“You _silenced_ me you bastard!”

 

“He obviously did not,” Mael pointed out.

 

Anders blinked at the Warden Commander; suddenly, the mage looked confused, like he didn’t know where he was.

  
Fenris took a step toward him. “ _Vengeance_ ,” he addressed the Spirit Healer. Anders went ridig, like he had before when the elf called him that. “You are not threatened here.”

 

Amber eyes turned toward the elf. “I am not a demon!” Anders spat.

  
“No, you are not, but something remained after Justice was gone,” Fenris agreed. “Something that has already been there when he was still possessing your body.”

 

“He’s indeed like a walking, talking tear in the Veil,” Merrill murmured. “He doesn’t tire and does not go low on mana, no matter how many strong spells he casts because he is constantly connected to the Fade.”

 

“What does that mean?” Hawke asked.

 

“Mages tap on Fade energy to cast spells,” Merrill explained. “It’s where we draw our powers from. We are linked to the Fade whenever we wish to be but Anders does not need to tap on it, it…fills him.”

 

“Which is why silencing him only worked for a few seconds,” Marethari agreed. “It only gave the powers inside him a pause instead of berefting him of them completely for a while, as silencing is meant t do.”

 

Anders looked tired all of a sudden; the rage that had filled him over Alistair using Templar abilities on him dissolved, exhaling from him, his body slumping.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

 

Zevran, still visibly shaken from the Spirit Strike, gave a crooked smile as he and Mael pulled Alistair back to his feet. “Impressive, my dear mage,” the Antivan said. “I’m gonna feel that for days.”

 

“Make that _weeks_ ,” Alistair grunted out when he finally stood.

 

_I’m a monster. A monster that no longer has control over himself._

_You’re a monster. Abomination._

 

“Anders,” Fenris murmured, one hand touching the mage’s shoulder. Anders hadn’t realized he was trembling.

 

 _Monster_.

 

“What happened to him?” Hawke asked as Anders felt himself calm once again by Fenris’ presence.

 

“We believe that when a spirit dies, its energy returns to the Fade,” Marethari explained in a calm voice. “The Somniari have taught us a lot about it. They say the energy may regenerate into another spirit and may someday rise again, sometimes with a different personality and no memory of its past.” She moved closer to Anders again. “You were harboring a Fade spirit inside you, Da’len,” she addressed Anders. “What happened to it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Anders murmured. “Or can’t remember. All I know is, I died and when I woke up, he was gone, along with a huge part of myself that I have since been regaining, or tried to.”

 

“Is he truly gone?” Fenris asked. “You react when I call you…”

 

“Vengeance? Yes, _something_ inside me reacts,” Anders confirmed. “Not myself, just…” He shrugged helplessly.

 

Marethari circled Anders, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Do you know why Spirit Healers are highly desired in the ranks of the Circle?” she asked. “Or _feared_ by their enemies? Even the Templars?”

 

Anders averted his gaze.

 

“Feared?” Hawke quirked an eyebrow. “Why?”

 

The Keeper smiled. “Tell them, Child. Tell them _how_ Spirit Healers heal.”

 

“I don’t see why it matters,” Anders murmured. His gaze travelled to Merrill. She looked – hopeful. “It’s _not_ the same,” he told her.

 

“Isn’t it?” Merrill asked. “I fail to see the difference.”

 

“There’s no shame in explaining where Spirit Healers draw their powers from, Child,” Marethari said, offering Merrill a sharp glance.

 

Anders sighed. “We…summon spirits.”

 

“You –“ Fenris frowned. “Explain.”

 

“Benovelent spirits,” the mage went on. “Spirits of Compassion, Fortitude…Hope. We call upon them, through the Veil and allow them to use their abilities on our behalf. Spirit Healers are usually closely connected to Compassion more than to any other spirit, though. It enables us to…” Anders shook his head. “Their powers combined with ours enable us to go far beyond standard mage capabilities.”

 

“I’ve always wondered,” Hawke admitted with a smile. “You are much stronger than any other mage I know.”

 

“He could probably take out an entire branch of a Darkspawn army by himself, if he wanted to,” Mael said. “I saw him fight that broodmother.”

 

“Brood—what?” Hawke frowned.

  
“I’ll tell you another time,” Anders murmured.

 

“Spirit Healers are also more likely to attract malevolent creatures in the Fade,” Marethari added.

 

“Which makes us vigilant, more so than any other mage,” Anders countered. “I have never given into the temptations of a demon and neither will I _ever_.”

 

“The reason you react when Fenris calls you Vengeance is because you _summon_ Vengeance,” the Keeper said. “Like you summon Compassion or Hope when you heal, Fortitude or Valor when you protect your friends in battle.”

 

“I am not –“ Anders paused. “No, I am _not_ summoning _demons_.” He glared the elven Elder.

 

“If he indeed summons Vengeance, what purpose would he do that for?” Hawke asked, ignoring Anders’ hard stare.

 

“Protection,” Fenris murmured. “It was Vengeance who came back to Bartrand’s estate to slay our opponents. It was Vengeance who promised revenge on Meredith for her insults.” He nodded his head at Alistair. “Vengeance who restored Anders’ powers even though he was _silenced_.”

 

“Oh, is that what happened when I took Anders with me the other day and you attacked my guards?” Alistair asked teasingly, but worry tinged his words.

  
“Why would a Spirit of Vengeance feel the need to protect?” Merrill asked.

 

“Why did you summon Vengeance, Anders?” Marethari asked calmly. “What made you feel the need to retaliate?”

 

“Stop it!” Anders exclaimed furiously, his head immediately starting to throb. “Just…stop.”

 

“Enough of this,” Fenris said decisively. “The mage will rest now.”

 

The Keeper stepped aside when Fenris marched toward the Spirit Healer, gently taking his arm and giving him a push. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he murmured and Anders allowed himself to be taken away from the camp, away from curious or worried glances.

 

“Let them leave,” Marethari said when Mael made to follow them. “Let the Healer calm down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Aneth ara – A (social) Elven greeting  
> Andaran atish’an, Falon – A more formal greeting / Falon = “friends”  
> Hahren – Elder  
> Da’len – (little) Child / little one  
> Setheneran – Land of Waking Dreams / A place where the Veil is thin  
> Lethallin – Friend (masculine form)


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night at the Dalish Camp.
> 
> NSFW for the most part!
> 
> \---

The late night hours found Anders sitting in front of the huge fireplace the elves kept going through the night, aiding the guards on watch to spot danger in the dark before it reached the camp. He could feel two sets of eyes on him, hunters on watch and wary of a Spirit Healer who, according to their Keeper, was capable of summoning demons and drawing from their powers and had a seemingly endless supply of mana to call his own.

 

Hawke had left the Dalish camp at sunset, returning to his newfound duties as viscount. Zevran had accompanied him for protection and Anders had chuckled at how flustered their fearless leader had been at that. Hawke was no doubt more than capable to protect himself, but it couldn’t hurt to have an assassin by his side.

 

Mael and Alistair had left shortly after, with the promise to return, to scout the area. They were not too far from that Grey Warden prison now and Mael had been restless, needing to find out why the Wardens entrusted to contact the prison had not returned or sent word.

 

Fenris was sleeping; Anders had been to fidgety to remain by his side and snuck out of the tent the Dalish let them use for the night, so the elf could rest. Anders had forced enough on him lately. He wondered why Fenris still remained; was Anders not everything he hated?

 

_He will not remain._

 

Anders frowned and shook his head, too tired to deal with his confused mind right now.

 

“Still troubled, Da’len?”

 

The mage looked up and found Keeper Marethari look at him with a fond smile. It was rare to see her smile; while she often carried a fond tone in her voice, her expression was always serious.

 

“You told me I am summoning demons,” Anders groused. “Of course I am troubled!”

 

“It would seem you have mastered control over them, Child.” She sat down next to him. “Which is impressive but still dangerous, should you ever slip.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Anders murmured. “I haven’t gone through all this to see them hurt by my hand…”

 

“Gone through what?”

 

The mage paused. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I _know_ it to be true but have no memories to back it up.”

 

“You said earlier you were worried about attempting to heal yourself.”

 

“I was afraid what would happen if I reach inside myself to fix whatever is wrong, seeing how poorly I have reacted to certain things before. Like…earlier.”

 

Marethari hummed in agreement, still smiling when she looked at him. “I will assist you, if you want to try, Spirit Healer. Your gift is rare and so is your current condition.”

 

“What if something bad happens?” Anders gestured around. “Would you risk the safety and lives of your people, Keeper?”

 

“I know _you_ won’t,” the Keeper said. “No matter what else your condition causes, you are still compassionate and will not see anyone harmed if you can prevent it.”

 

The mage sighed, casting a longing glance to the tent he shared with Fenris.

 

“Stay with him tonight. Come to me in the morning, once you have rested. You will need all your strength, Da’len.” Marethari slowly got up. “It is not an easy task ahead of you.”

 

“You mean to say it might kill me,” Anders clarified.

  
“It may kill you, regardless.”

 

 

 

Fenris stirred the moment Anders snuck back into their tent, green eyes focusing immediately and fixing a glare on the mage in the semi-dark. Anders paused for a moment before wordlessly getting out of his clothes and joining Fenris on the bed. The elf lifted the covers for the mage to slip underneath.

  
“Will she be able to help you?” Fenris asked quietly as Anders snuggled close. Not admonishing him for sneaking out, no question about why he had left or where he had been.

  
“We will find out in the morning.”

 

“What is it that you plan on doing?”

 

Ander sighed against the warm skin of Fenris’ shoulder, amber eyes gazing into emeral green ones.

 

“Why are you still here?” the mage wondered. Fenris frowned at him. “I’m a _mage_ , was formely possessed by a Fade spirit, Maker knows what might be possessing me _now_ and on top of that, I seem to be summoning _demons_. Had that happened a year ago, or two, you would have killed me without batting an eyelash and Hawke would have _let_ you. Maker, _I_ would have let you, because I refuse to be a threat to anyone. How can I attempt to teach people that mages are _not_ monsters and give them every reason to fear or hate us myself?”

 

“You’re getting upset again,” Fenris pointed out, feeling the mage’s body tremble in his arms.

 

“Why aren’t you?” Anders whispered.

 

“Because you gave me no reason to,” the elf said simply. “Whatever happened when you and Justice separated, whatever caused you to become _setheneran_ , as the Keeper called it earlier, it didn’t change _you_ , Anders. I will not claim it does not make me wary or remind me of the magisters in Tevinter, who would murder for your powers, mage, but I do not fear you or feel threatened by your presence and I never have.” Fenris smirked. “What you made me feel was of a different nature entirely.”

 

Anders chuckled. “So you tell me.” He inched closer, aligning their bodies under the covers, soft lips pressing a kiss to Fenris’ shoulder. He sighed. “Will you promise me something?”

 

Fenris lifted a hand, caressing over Anders’ head. “What?”

 

“Never leave.”

 

The elf frowned at the request, accompanied by soft kisses along the side of his neck. “Leave?” he asked, confused.

 

“Me. Never leave _me_ ,” Anders whispered fervently, his teeth gently worrying the elf’s left earlobe.

 

Fenris hissed at the sharp spike of pleasure. He did not resist when Anders rolled him on his back, the mage’s slender body covering his only a second later, his warm weight welcomed by the elf who wrapped his arms around the blond, pulling him even closer. Their bodies reacted immediately to their close proximity.

Anders’ lips ghosted over his, teasing, pulling back when Fenris lifted his head to kiss the mage. Fenris growled in annoyance. Anders smiled down at him, one hand brushing away strands of white hair partly covering emerald greens.

 

“I have no intention of going anywhere,” Fenris murmured, hands splaying across the mage’s shoulder blades. Fingertips pressed into tight skin and muscles, feeling the tension in the other man.

 

“At least not right now,” Anders agreed with a smirk. “You’d miss out.”

 

“On what?”

 

Anders hummed, bringing his mouth to Fenris’ for a long, deep kiss. “On this,” he whispered once he broke the kiss, the elf exhaling shakily against his lips. The warm moved lower, warm, moist, pressing a lingering kiss to his chin, lower, to the hollow of his throat, his collarbone, his sternum, impossibly soft lips leaving a hot, wet trail in their wake that cooled in the night air, causing Fenris to shiver.

 

“And this…”

 

The blanket covering them both moved with Anders as he continued his path, his mouth pressing a kiss and sucking gently over the elf’s solar plexus, causing warmth to spread through his entire body.

 

Fenris shifted, a snort escaping him when Anders reached his navel. The mage chuckled against his skin and Fenris twitched when that made the tickling sensation worse.

  
“Anders,” he admonished, with barely contained laughter in his voice. Anders hummed in response, warm breath fanning over sensitive skin. The blond paused for a moment, pressing his cheek against the elf’s sharp hip bone, inhaled the tantalizing scent of lyrium, arousal, musk and something uniquely Fenris, the same scent that usually caused him to sleep like a baby in the elf’s bed, with his face pressed into the pillows.

 

Anders lifted one hand, taking a gentle hold of Fenris’ semi-hard erection, giving it a firm squeeze. Fenris inhaled sharply, hips lifting into the touch despite Anders’ weight on top of him, a low growl escaping the elf’s lips when the touch caused him to harden further. The mage allowed himself to let the elf overwhelm his senses, taste, smell, sound, _touch_ as he continued to stroke, Fenris trembling, breathy moans escaping his mouth.

 

Amber eyes gazed up the length of Fenris’ lithe body. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. Fenris stilled beneath him, breath catching in his throat. “I’m sure you’ve been told before,” Anders continued. “Just in a different context.”

 

Fenris’ pained expression at that was all the confirmation Anders needed. Slowly, he moved back up, leaned over the elf once again and pressed soothing kisses to the slender face. “Maybe one day,” Anders whispered against the skin of the elf’s cheek, “you’ll be able to see that I mean it, without any ulterior motives other than…simply stating fact.”

 

The elf smirked at that, catching the mage’s mouth with his for a brief kiss. “And the lyrium has _nothing_ to do with it, of course.”

 

“No,” Anders stated with a sincerity Fenris could not ignore, not even when the mage started to move his hand again, a whisper of magic dancing across his skin and making his brands light up when Anders used the grease spell once again, his hand sliding easily now. The slippery wet sound added to Fenris’ arousal. One of his hands gripped the mage’s arm, squeezing soft skin, feeling tight muscle shift beneath it. Fenris brought his mouth to Anders’ again, sharing a deep, passionate kiss with the mage, whose hand gripped tighter, the strokes on his hot, hard flesh intensifying. When the familiar tingle at the end of his spine set in, Fenris helplessly arched his back into Anders’ touch, his panting loud enough that the elf was sure there was no doubt for the Dalish about what was happening inside their tent.

 

“Let go,” Anders whispered into his ear, lips brushing its sensitive shell, hot breath fanning over it and all the way up to the flushed, pointy tip. Fenris shook, body stiffening as it prepared for the inevitable release. Anders’ hand let go of his dangerously throbbing cock and Fenris wanted to growl in frustration, being so _close…_

 

Slippery fingers pushed into his tight body, fingertips finding the sensitive spot inside immediately, pressing down and with a hoarse shout, Fenris came. His fingernails dug into Anders’ arm as the mage continued to move his fingers inside him, drawing back slowly, then back inside, pressing against the sensitive gland, causing his cock to pulse so strongly it almost hurt.

 

Then Fenris was pulling, both hands grabbing the mage, legs parting further. Anders moaned as he settled between the elf’s thighs, his own arousal still present, sliding over Fenris’ spent cock and the cooling essence on the elf’s stomach. Fenris lifted his hips, legs trembling with the effort and rocked against the blond’s lower body. One of Anders’ hands grabbed his hip, the other braced against the mattress next to Fenris’ head for support and the mage shifted, trapped between trembling thighs before he pushed forward and right into Fenris’ hot, tight body. The elf welcomed the burning sensation, breath hitching in his throat as a soft sob escaped Anders’ lips.

 

“ _Move_ , blighted mage,” Fenris growled, thrusting his lower body against the blond’s and Anders picked up a slow, steady rhythm. The elf let his head fall back, a breathy moan escaping his lips when his overly sensitive body shook almost violently from the continued stimulation through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Again Anders shifted, this time to his knees, lifting Fenris’ lower body; the elf braced his feet against the mattress for better leverage as the mage’s thrust became stronger. Fenris lost himself in the sounds of his own moans, Anders’ heavy panting and of skin slapping harshly against skin, his hips meeting every thrust.

 

Anders’ mouth descended on his when he came, moaning loudly and Fenris swallowed that moan greedily when he felt the mage come inside him, hot, wet, his own, spent cock pulsing weakly in response. When the mage began to shiver on top of him, Fenris wrapped his arms tightly around his slender form and held him close, soothing him with kisses.

 

“I’m not leaving,” Fenris murmured when Anders broke their kiss in favor of burying his face against the elf’s neck, something the mage liked to do whenever he had the chance and Fenris found endearing. “Do you hear, mage?”

 

“I hear you,” Anders whispered against heated skin. “I hear you.”

 

_I hear you. I can hear you._

_Amatus._

**_He will not remain._ **

 

Anders knew he’d commemorate this night, these past few weeks; everything since returning from the dead. No matter what, he told himself, he would _not_ forget again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Da’len – (little) Child / little one  
> Amatus - Beloved


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders relives the moment after he died.
> 
> I hope it is not too confusing. The scene now following picks up after Anders' dream/memory at the beginning of [Chapter Four](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3773212/chapters/8450287). Extracts stem from the two final chapters of [Obscurus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3724315). The one or other line in this one you will have read before throughout the story :)
> 
> In an attempt to explain, an extract from Dragon Age Wiki:  
>  _There are numerous ways for a spirit to become a demon:_  
>  (...)  
> The spirit can reflect or imitate human perversions of a virtue, or possess a mortal with distorted values. (Ex: Allure, Vengeance)  
> (...)  
> The spirit gains ego, ambition, longing, or a thirst for power. (Ex: Nightmare)
> 
> Article: [On Spirits and Demons](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Spirit)  
> Also possibly offering some explanation: [On Spirit Healers](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Spirit_healer).
> 
>  
> 
> \---

**_Suscito, mi amatus. Pervivo._ **

 

_Beloved._

_Where are you?_

A jolt went through him. Claws, sharp and unforgiving, tore into his skin and Anders screamed at the excrutiating pain that followed.

 

He reliated, the fireball literally exploding from his outstretched arm, sending the malevolent creature staggering backwards. Gritting his teeth and forbidding the pain to cloud his senses, Anders glared at Justice, or what was still recognizable of the former Fade spirit slowly transforming in front of him, distorted, torn apart from the inside, its foul aura making Anders feel nauseous.

 

“Enough,” he told it fervently. The creature glowered at him.

 

 **You cannot escape** , the creature murmured. **We have been one for too long. We are one. We remain one. You are mine**.

 

“No,” Anders whispered. “We have never been one, we have always been you and I, sometimes united when fighting for the same purpose but I have never been yours.”

 

 **I am Anders. I am Justice. You are Anders. You are Justice. We are Vengeance**.

 

“I am Anders. You are… _were_ Justice. We have never been Vengeance.” Anders cast a Paralysis Glyph on the creature when it made to charge again. It was strong, Anders thought, but the glyph kept it in place, even as the creature’s dark powers fought against it.

 

 **You are nothing without me** , it protested furiously. **You have nothing.**

 

“I have friends and I will not allow you to return with me so you can hurt them, you monster!”

 

 **You cannot return without me**.

 

Anders chuckled bitterly at that. “Then we will remain where we are. Wasn’t that the plan, anyway?

 

**_Suscito, mi amatus._ **

 

The blond faltered for a moment when the echo of Fenris’ words reached him anew and he longingly looked into the general direction of the voices reaching him continuously. His friends, the people who loved and cared for him, they were fighting for him. Fighting to keep him. Anders wondered if he had ever experienced something like this before.

 

 **He will not remain**.

 

Anders returned his gaze to the creature. He had caused this, had turned Justice into this. Perversed a Fade spirit with the hate, the fears inside him.

 

 **Alone. Abandoned. Hated**. The demon seemed to be chanting. **There is no such thing for you in the world you escaped, Anders. They will not remain. He will not remain. It will not last. Like your parents’ love did not last**.

 

“It’s a risk I am willing to take,” Anders replied tiredly. The glyph he had cast was weakening and he prepared himself for the demon’s attack that would no doubt come as soon as it noticed it was no longer paralyzed. “I can’t keep running away because I am afraid to get hurt.” The glyph shattered and the demon looked at the ground curiously. “If I am going down,” Anders told it, voice firm, “ _you_ are going with me.”

 

An unearthly howl escaped the demon’s throat and he charged at Anders, who braced himself for the inevitable impact. It came, violent and unforgiving, throwing him to the ground, sharp claws tearing into him. Instead of fighting, Anders gripped the distorted form of the demon tightly, holding him close.

 

 _Think, Anders_ , he told himself, even when he felt the malevolent creature tear him apart, bit for bit, eating away at him. Elimating who he was, his fears, hopes, pain, memories. The mage felt himself go lightheaded and yet he still held on, refusing to succumb completely. _Think._

 

The single thread of connection he still held, the sole way back to the world of the mortals, to his mortal body, he let it slip away, berefting the greedy demon and himself of the possibility to return. There was no way he _could_ return, not like this, not _with_ this.

 

 _I’m sorry_ , he let his friends know, uncertain if they would ever hear, ever realize.

 

The demon stopped, the sharp claws tearing him, his spiritual being, apart suddenly nothing more than a dull, yet bearable sensation. Instead, Anders became aware of a soothing, warm sensation that tore a sob from him when he recognized it.

 

“I thought I had lost you, Compassion,” he whispered, feeling every bit like the little boy again that fell asleep and found himself wandering the Fade for the first time. Scared, alone, until Compassion found him, pulling him into a soothing embrace and when Anders had woken up the next morning, everything had changed. Powers inside him he hadn’t known before.

 

 **The mage is mine** , Nightmare growled on top of him, at someone Anders couldn’t see, only _feel_.

 

 ** _Non suscito, mi magus_**.

 

Fenris.

Just hearing the elf’s voice still, loud and clear, like he was whispering directly into his ear, put Anders at ease.

 

**_Somnia quieta._ **

 

 **Do not succumb, Child** , another, gentle, whisper joined Fenris’ soothing voice. **Your path has not ended yet.**

 

“Help me,” Anders pleaded and the warm sensation intensified.

 

 ** _Recupero et redeo ad me_**.

 

Gathering all the strength he had left, Anders _pushed_ against Nightmare’s solid, heavy form, teeth gritting when sharp claws dug further into him in response.

 

“Recedemus daemonem,” Anders demanded in a shaky voice. Nightmare went rigid on top of him, soulless eyes staring curiously. “You will _not_ have them,” Anders told it. “You will not have _me_ …” His voice carried a steely undertone, fury taking him and supplying him with more strength.

 

“Recedemus daemonem.”

 

Nightmare snarled at him and Anders gave into the familiar power rising inside him. He pushed more forcefully and Nightmare struggled.

 

“I am Anders. _I_ am Vengeance,” Anders said coldly, in a voice that did no longer sound like his own. “ _You_ are nothing without _me_. They are _mine_ to keep, mine to protect.”

 

 **Do not succumb**.

 

“Recedemus daemonem!”

 

 _Wrath_.

 

The mind blast came easily, yet stronger than Anders had anticipated, throwing Nightmare off him and knocking him to the ground, only a few feet away from him. The mage allowed himself to succumb to the fury inside him, his wrath and cast a crushing prison on the demon before it had the chance to get back on its feet, kept it trapped in his spot.

 

Anders could feel it weaken, just like he himself weakened once again. They had been one, for a very long time, too long and just like Anders, the demon could not shake their connection entirely. They were bound, each of them having created the other over the past years. His human mind perversing Justice, the Fade spirit – the Fade spirit, perversed and turning into a demon, tainting his mind without noticing, stronger than the Grey Warden Taint.

 

Anders had not been vigilant enough. The Spirit Healer had _failed_ steering away from corruption. Fenris had been right, this entire time – he _was_ an abomination, in every sense of the word.

 

The demon would not be able to survive without his host, without Anders’ spirit to feed on.

 

“This ends here,” Anders told the demon tiredly, calling upon his magic one last time. “ _We_ can be no more.”

 

In the Circle, Anders had learned everything he could about demons; as a Spirit Healer, it was essential to know what to look out for, since they were more vulnerable to be lured, fooled by masquerading demons than any other type of mage, due to their constant connection to benevolent spirits. Karl had always made sure Anders would learn, _learn_ to protect, to defend himself against the ones seeking him out with more ulterior motives, so he would never become a danger to himself and those around him.

 

He had faced Fear Demons before, during his Harrowing. He knew what sort of attack they were vulnerable to.

 

And so did Nightmare, still trapped in its crushing prison and eyeing Anders warily.

 

 **They are not worth giving your life for** , it taunted.

 

“You are wrong,” Anders countered with a tired smile. “They are worth _everything_. Have you learned nothing?”

 

He put his last reserves into the Spirit Strike he cast on the demon. The moment it hit Nightmare, Anders could feel its force inside himself, tearing him apart further as the demon dissolved into nothingness.

 

 

It was dark around him; dark and silent and Anders succumbed to it, allowing himself to make peace as he faced the end of his existence. No way back now, no chance to rise again.

 

He was floating in the nothingness, his consciousness slowly fading away.

 

Warmth surrounded him once again, like a pair of strong, protective arms, ending the fading process and Anders clung to it, hope sparking inside him one last time.

 

 **Do not succumb** , the gentle voice from earlier told him again. **Rest, Child**.

 

The feeling of strong arms around him solidified, turning into something else than just a sensation of his mind. It felt _real_.

 

“Recupero et redeo at me,” Fenris murmured to him and Anders felt something warm against his lips, another spark of sensation. A _physical_ sensation. Anders could _feel_ his body and the body next to his that he nuzzled against, content, not wanting to let go.

 

A final, weak tug on his consciousness, clawing at it. “Recedemus daemonem,” Anders whispered, again and again, as he tied the weak remains of his life force to the warmth next to him, away from the darkness trying to pull him back, threads entwining and steadying him. He could feel Compassion’s aura, guarding the path to the place Anders had just escaped, sealing it from him. Keeping him safe.

 

**_Recupero._ **

**Recover.**

 

Anders allowed himself to relax and recovery to begin.

 

~*~

 

Hawke’s hands were shaking by the time Anders finally quieted, his tall, slender form going limp on the Keeper’s bed. The binding glyph Marethari had cast slowly faded away, a concerned look on the Elven Elder’s face.

 

Varric slowly released his hold on Fenris, both of them still on the ground, with Varric bodily holding the terrified elf down. The moment Anders had begun to slur, blood oozing from his nose, out his ears and trickling from the corners of his mouth, Fenris moved, wanting to end the Keeper’s ritual. Varric had had no doubt he would have struck Marethari to the ground if necessary, so he instinctively did the only thing he could: throwing himself at and on the elf, tackling him to the ground and holding him down as best as he could. Fenris could have escaped, could have simply phased but watching Anders choke on his own blood had stunned the terrified elf enough to cause his mind to forget about logical thinking.

 

“Is he dead?” Hawke heard himself ask, his voice as shaky as his hands.

 

It was enough for Fenris to snap out of his torpor and violently throw Varric off before rushing to the bed. Marethari did not stop him when he leaned over Anders’ lifeless form, one trembling hand cupping the mage’s pale cheek, smearing blood and salty tears as he caressed it with his thumb.

  
“Anders?” he whispered. The skin beneath his hand was warm, clammy, but _alive_. He could feel blood pulse through veins and arteries, could hear the mage’s slow, steady heartbeat, in tune with his own. “He’s alive,” he let Hawke know and the warrior visibly slumped, a heavy sigh of relief escaping him.

 

“But is he alright?” Varric asked. He had accompanied Hawke to Sundermount, arriving during the early morning hours. Just in time, too, as Marethari had been in the midst of preparing the ritual that she hoped would help Anders, slowly easing the mage into a state of self-induced unconsciousness. Anders had not said a word since they had left their bed and Fenris hadn’t known what to say and the things he wanted to say had scared him too much to be able to let them cross his lips. When Anders reached deep into his own consciousness, Fenris realized the mage might not return, that neither of them knew what he was going to face once he was out of their reach.

 

“ _Is_ he alright?” Fenris snarled at the Keeper.

 

“What did you feel?” Marethari asked, ignoring the elf’s question. Fenris paused.

  
“What do you mean?”

 

“The moment he began to react violently, so did you,” she explained. “What did you feel?”

 

Fenris gazed at the mage’s pale face. Moments ago, it had shown distress; now it wore a peaceful expression, like Anders was only sleeping and had not just gone through what had _felt_ like pure torture. “Terror,” he murmured. “Fear. Pain. Rage. Acceptance.” A whirlwind of emotions, he realized and not all of them had felt like they were his own. His markings had flared to life at some point, the discomfort they had given him until a few years ago returning for a mere moments before ebbing away again, disappearing the moment Anders had stilled.

 

“You think the two of them are connected somehow?” Hawke asked. “Andraste’s sweet bosom…” He shook his head.

 

“Anders did say Fenris makes him feel calm,” Varric murmured. “I figured that was to be expected, seeing as Fenris was with him the entire time, in the cave, when he…” He gestured vaguely. “You know.”

 

Fenris felt a jolt go through Anders’ body, not unlike the one that had gone through him when Merrill had revived him with her magic. An almost desperate sounding intake of breath, the mage’s chest heaving.

 

“Anders.” Fenris’ hand moved from the mage’s cheek to his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Anders?”

 

The blond coughed violently, his body seizing with the force. One hand flew up, clutching at Fenris’ arm and the elf felt the cool, prickling sensation of healing magic. Varric and Hawke rushed to the bed, leaning over Anders with concerned expressions on their faces.

 

“Blondie?” Varric tried.

 

Anders coughed again, weaker this time and finally, amber eyes blinked open, gazing right into Fenris’ green ones.

 

“Thank the Maker!” Hawke reached out and stroked one of his big hands over Anders’ forehead, brushing away stray blond strands that clung to a sweaty forehead.

 

“You made quite the mess, Blondie,” Varric said in lieu of a greeting, offering the mage a toothy grin. “You’re in dire need of a nice, hot bath.”

 

Fenris watched quietly as the mage’s eyes focused, recognition settling in. Slowly, Anders let his gaze travel across the sparse room of the Keeper’s tent, pausing to look at Marethari, Hawke and Varric, then finally moved his gaze back to the elf.

 

“It’s over,” Fenris murmured, his hands cupping Anders’ slender face. “Are you alright?”

 

“Do you know where you are, Da’len?” Marethari spoke up. Anders either ignored or didn’t hear her, too focused on Fenris.

 

 _Amatus_.

 

“Fenris,” he murmured. His voice sounded raw.

 

“I’m here, mage.” Fenris allowed himself to smile hesitantly. “ _We_ are here,” he corrected himself then. “Non solus es, remember?”

 

Anders breathed out a small chuckle, a smile slowly spreading on his face, amber eyes twinkling.

 

“I remember,” he croaked. Next to Fenris, Varric finally allowed himself to relax as well, if only a fraction.

 

 _I remember_.

 

Finally, Anders felt his mind come to rest, filling in the pieces that had been missing for way too long. Stomping through his head like a band of ogres ready to tear the place apart, giving him a slight headache. Kept at bay by Fenris’ close proximity, the comforting pulse of the strings connecting them still that Anders had no memory of creating before, but it made his reaction to Fenris those past few weeks understandable now.

 

And, possibly, Fenris’ behavior toward him in return.

 

“I love you,” Anders whispered and watched green eyes widen in surprise at the revelation.

 

“It was high time one of you finally said it,” Varric remarked dryly.

 

“Mage…” Fenris murmured, frowning when hot, salty tears touched against his fingertips.

 

“And you were right,” Anders sobbed out, then clung to the elf as he wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Suscito, mi amatus – Wake up, my beloved  
> Pervivo – Live  
> Non suscito, mi magus – Do not wake, my mage.  
> Somnia quieta – Peaceful dreams.  
> Recupero et redeo ad me – Recover and return to me  
> Recedemus daemonem – Begone, demon.  
> Non solus es – You are not alone


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for Garrett Hawke to put his foot down, even if he risks getting fireballed for it. Why? Because he does feel guilty.  
> A tiny bit of Fenders angst and - Anders receiving the valasslin.

Wine had never been more relaxing.

 

With a sigh, Hawke leaned back against the majestic tree behind him, the neck of a wine bottle in one hand, the other running through his slightly tousled hair. He shot Alistair an amused look. The King of Ferelden looked ready to fall over and sleep for at least a week. Spending an entire night and most of the day watching the Grey Warden prison with the Warden Commander, Hawke figured, would do that to someone. Their secret visit had brought nothing new to daylight, but they did stumble across the corpses of two of the Wardens they had originally sent out on their way back to the Dalish camp. If Alistair was concerned, he didn’t show it – and the Warden Commander had a poker face anyway.

 

“So, how long will it take for Meredith to find out?” Hawke asked with a chuckle.

 

“What, that I cannot technically appoint you Viscount of Kirkwall and did not have the Free Marchers’ blessing to do so?” Alistair’s lips quirked up. “Tell you what, I have _no_ idea. I did make sure the governors of the respective cities were informed. If we are lucky, they will agree and Meredith will never hear about it, but we both know how stubborn, thick-headed and _independent_ the Free Marchers are.”

 

“And if we are not?” Hawke took another sip from his bottle. “She’ll have our heads on a silver plate.”

 

“Possibly.” Alistair eyed the wine bottle. “How many of those have you had today?”

 

“On my second and trust me, I need it.”

 

“So I heard.” Alistair fought a yawn, eyes glassy when he looked at Hawke again. “So, that Veil _thing_ …it’ll be permanent?”

 

“Yes.”

  
“And so will Vengeance?”

 

Hawke shrugged. “It’s a part of him now. At least he has control over it. Well, mostly.” He smiled sympathetically at Alistair. “You need sleep, my friend.”

 

Alistair chuckled. “You are probably right.” His tired gaze travelled over to the Keeper and Mael, who listened intently to what Marethari had to tell him. They had arrived long after Anders had regained consciousness. All Alistair knew, so far, was that Anders had spent a while crying, until there were no more tears left and had since refused to move or speak to anyone.

 

That and the tidbit of information he’d gotten out of the Champion.

 

“Shouldn’t you return to Denerim soon?” Hawke asked.

 

“If it were for him –“ Alistair nodded at Mael, “—I’d already be there. He never approved of me wanting to come with when he set out to Kirkwall in the first place, but he had to admit that he’d have even less of a say in governing matters than I do. To be honest, I was dying to get out and away for a while. I would have never made a decent Templar and I sure as Void do not enjoy sitting on a throne and making decisions on behalf of an entire nation.”

 

“Then why do it?”

 

“As Mael keeps saying…at the time, it was the right decision. Ferelden needed a new king, I am King Maric’s bastard and Loghain needed to be stopped. Mael didn’t think Anora would do a good job, apart from the fact that he was not willing to let her have the throne when it was rightfully mine.” Alistair shrugged. “His words, not mine.” He smiled. “The one or other ulterior motive might have played a role as well.”

 

Hawke snorted. “Know the feeling. What was his?”

 

“Justice and freedom for the elves in the alienage he comes from.”

 

This time, Hawke openly laughed. “He sounds like Anders.”

 

“Yep, these two have a lot in common.” Alistair stiffled a yawn. “Including going through unimaginable lengths to protect those they love.”

 

Hawke hummed in agreement and took another sip of wine, a sour expression on his face. “Facing archdemons…demons in the Fade…we need to put a stop to this, if only for our sanity’s sake.”

 

“I agree.”

 

The King and the Champion looked up when a tall figure emerged from the tent Anders, Fenris and Varric had holed up in these past few hours – Anders withdrawn, Fenris keeping an eye on him and Varric trying his charms on the mage so he’d snap out of that state he was in – and possibly keeping an eye on Fenris as well, since the elf was not known to possess a lot of patience.

 

Anders strode across the Dalish camp, Varric and Fenris right at his heels. Mael quirked an eyebrow at the mage as the brushed past him and Hawke regarded the situation for a moment.

 

Anders had cleaned up and dressed, hair tied back neatly once again. He had his staff on his back and a look of pure determination on his face that Hawke decidedly did _not_ like. Long legs carried him fast, away from the tents and aravels and he seemed to make it a point to ignore his friends calling out for him; Varric in exasperation, Fenris most definitely right-out furious and Mael with a warning undertone in his voice that had Hawke wonder briefly if the mage was in for a serious spanking if he did not listen to the Warden Commander.

 

“No rest for the wicked,” Alistair lamented.

 

Hawke jumped to his feet and strode after Anders, effortlessly getting ahead of the Varric and Fenris. He knew Anders noticed him following, the moment the mage sped up his steps and with an annoyed grunt, Hawke began to run.

 

“Stop!” he barked at the blond as he closed up on him.

 

“I need to go,” Anders informed him matter-of-factly, not slowing down.

 

It was not needed, as Hawke eventually closed the distance between them and gripped Anders’ arm tightly. Anders spun around, a spark of something seen in the palm of his free hand, followed by a strong glow.

  
“You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Hawke stated as he stared into amber eyes unblinkingly.

 

Anders sighed, letting the magic retreat. “No, I wouldn’t,” he confirmed, even as he tried to yank his arm out of Hawke’s iron grip.

 

“Good. Now care to tell me why you are in such a hurry?”

 

A few feet behind him, Fenris, Varric and Mael came to a halt.

 

“I need to return to Kirkwall,” Anders told Hawke. “And I really don’t have time for this right now.”

  
“Return to Kirkwall why?”

 

The mage stared at him as if Hawke had just spontaneously grown a second head. “The explosive, Hawke,” he reminded. “The one that got stolen from my clinic? I need to find it. Maker knows who got their hands on it and what they plan on doing. I’ve wasted enough time doing _nothing_.”

  
“Mage,” Fenris growled from behind Hawke. Anders spared him a quick, impassive glance.

 

“Fine. But could you wait until we _all_ have gathered our stuff and are ready to go?”

  
“The explosives are not _your_ problem, Garrett.”

 

Hawke blinked. “Pardon?”

 

“You need me to spell it out for you? Fine!” Anders took a deep breath. “I am an _abomination_. I’ve allowed a _demon_ to share my body and let it color my judgement and Maker knows what that means for my future, considering what the whole deal _left_ me with. That fact led to me mixing something together that might blow up the _entire_ city and it was taken by someone who may not know what it is they found at my clinic. I am responsible for something _very_ dangerous hiding somewhere in Kirkwall; it’s _my_ problem and I will find and do away with it.” Again, Anders tried to free himself and this time, his arm slipped from Hawke’s grip. “Short version: I gotta go.”

 

“You are not going alone,” Hawke stated.

 

“Did you just listen to anything I said, you thick-headed nug?” Anders snapped.

 

“I heard you and you are wrong on most of the things you just said.”

 

Amber eyes blinked at him.

  
“One, you _were_ an abomination,” Hawke said, “seeing as Vengeance is not really in _there_.” He pointed at Anders’ forehead. “Two, you hosted a _Fade_ spirit inside your body that turned into a demon eventually and possibly _not_ while still inside you, although I will not argue that joining with you wasn’t the healthiest thing Justice, or you, ever did. Three, said Fade spirit gave you that ridiculous idea of mixing an explosive together, something I _could_ have stopped, had I not been too occupied the day you asked me to help you find the ingredients…”

 

The determined expression on Anders’ face began to crumble. “Garrett –“

 

“Shut up!” Hawke snapped; Anders visibly flinched. “Four,” the warrior continued in a calmer voice now, “that the explosive is gone _is_ our problem, because we had promised to ourselves and you that we’d keep an eye on your clinic while you are incapable of healing, let alone do anything other than sleep and recover. We cleaned up, we _stocked_ it up, we prepared it for your return, _Varric_ installed a new lock and still, someone managed to get in and search it in our absence.”

 

Anders’ features softened.

 

“You want to go and find it? Alright!” Hawke shrugged. “But you are _not_ going alone, Anders.”

  
“Why?” Anders murmured.

 

“Because you don’t _have_ to, you blighted idiot!” Hawke reached out once again, this time pulling the mage’s reluctant form into a bear hug. “One would think you realize that, since you went and let a demon eat you alive in the Fade, in order to protect us,” he added then, murmuring into Anders’ hair.

 

The mage exhaled shakily against the other man’s neck, his body becoming pliant in the strong arms wrapped tightly around him. “Garrett,” Anders murmured. “You… _one_ would think you realized by now that I am too dangerous to be around.”

 

“I believe that’s mutual or are you seriously claiming I have not put either of you through a lot of danger in the past?”

 

“That’s not the sa—“

 

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Anders, or I _swear_ you’re in for a serious spanking. I took the lot of you to the Bone Pit, filled with dragonlings, Darkspawn and Deepstalkers. I took you with me into the Deep Roads, mostly out of personal gain, shortly after we’ve met, promising nothing more than a lot of coin if we’re successful and survive. We fought Qunari, blood mages, Templars, demons, slavers, Tevinter magisters, rabid Chantry sisters, creatures all of Thedas can be glad they never had to face and I was the one dragging you all to the cave that fucking collapsed on us thanks to some overzealous Carta dwarf Varric insisted to bring along and almost got you killed in the process. Don’t say it’s not the same. You’ll have to offer more than a demon possessing you or explosives to reach the level of insanity I put you through during the past almost six years. An insanity you _didn’t_ have to be part of but chose to be, anyway.”

 

By the time Hawke had finished his little speech, Anders’ shoulders were shaking and with relief, he noticed it was not because the mage was upset, but because he tried not to laugh – and failing miserably.

 

Hawke grinned in response and hugged Anders even closer. “Have I made myself clear?” he asked.

 

Anders just chuckled, his arms finally wrapping around Hawke’s body in return. “I hate you,” he eventually stated without conviction.

  
“Would have saved you a whole lot of trouble and discomfort if you did.”

 

“True.”

 

They remained like this for a moment and Varric grinned when Fenris tried his hardest not to scowl at the two men being affectionate with each other.

 

Anders felt Hawke’s nose in his hair then and frowned. “Are you sniffing me?” he asked.

 

“You smell good,” Hawke explained. “I mean, you always had a certain scent about you, seeing as you are a mage and you folks usually smell like ozone or something equally strange but you…you smell delicious?”

 

“Like what, sugar cake?”

 

“Spring rain.”

 

Ander stilled in Hawke’s arms.

  
“You smell like Spring rain,” the Champion of Kirkwall repeated gently. “It’s nice.”

 

“If you are quite done feeling him up, Hawke, we should get going,” Fenris snarled, no longer able to keep quiet.

 

“Ah yes, that prickly elf of yours,” Hawke murmured, pulling back a little.

 

Anders glanced at Fenris’ scowling face, then back to Hawke. “What about him?”

  
“You don’t tell someone you love them and then go and leave them behind, Anders.”

 

The mage cleared his throat at that, trying to cover up his embarrassment but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t keep his cheeks from blushing. Varric guffawed and patted Fenris’ shoulder, the elf’s scowl only dissipating slightly when he shuffled his feet.

 

“We will meet in Kirkwall then,” Mael spoke up with a sigh. “I’m afraid I will have to stay here for a little while longer.”

 

Anders peeked past Hawke’s shoulder. “Why?”

 

The Warden Commander rolled his eyes and nodded at Alistair, who seemed to have passed out, curled up in the grass and snoring quietly.

 

Anders giggled and wagged his eyebrows at Mael. “You’re not going to let him sleep on the ground, are you?”

 

Mael huffed. “I _should_.”

 

“Before you leave, Da’len, there is something else the Dalish can do for you to ease your troubled mind,” Marethari offered.

 

Hawke lifted an eyebrow at Anders. “Why don’t you let her tell you what that is and then we sit down and form an actual plan instead of rushing back to Kirkwall unprepared?”

 

Anders smiled. “Alright.”

 

 

~*~

 

Anders felt a little weird, with so many pairs of eyes watching intently as Marethari worked, calm and respectful of the ritual.

 

Merrill seemed to vibrate with excitement, her big moss green eyes staring in fascination, teeth worrying her bottom lip. Varric winced now and then, when very fine needles pierced the mage’s skin, applying ink – or at least something like it - carefully crafting a delicate pattern along his temple and close to his right eye. The Keeper was chanting quietly. Anders didn’t know a lot of ancient Elven, but what he understood told him she was praying to their Creators. He wasn’t sure if the Elvhen Gods would have more mercy on him than the Maker or his bride, but he wasn’t going to question it, either.

 

The prickling sensation followed Marethari’s hand, hovering right above his cheekbone and to the tender place beneath his eye.

 

“That’s gonna accentuate nicely,” Hawke said with a grin. “We won’t be able to keep people off of you from now on.”

 

A dangerous growl escaped Fenris and Anders bit back a snort, worried he’d mess up Marethari’s careful work and instead opted for a dirty glare.

 

“What exactly is it going to do?” Alistair asked. Instead of going back to sleep after Mael had given him a not so gentle shove and told him to find a bed, he’d accompanied them to Marethari’s tent.

 

“It will protect him,” Mael said. “Ever seen an elven mage with blood writing that was possessed?”

 

Varric and Fenris immediately glanced at Merrill. She puffed her cheeks up indignantly.

  
“I am _not_ possessed,” she argued. “I am learning from spirits and demons alike and summon them when needed, but I am not sharing my body with them.”

 

Alistair eyed the tattoos on Mael’s face, grinning when the Warden Commander’s pointed ears flushed pink. “So, the blood writing makes you…immune against possession?”

 

“There is no proof of that,” Marethari decided to speak up. “It is true that we have not encountered a gifted elf that underwent this procedure that ended up possessed. We like to believe it’s because they have the protection of the Creators when carrying the _valasslin_.”

 

“What about that guy we encountered in Darktown?” Hawke asked.

 

“I don’t think he was tattooed, Hawke,” Varric said. “Not that I recall, at least.”

 

“He wasn’t,” Fenris muttered out, remembering that night all too well. “He came from the Alienage and was brought to the Circle when they discovered he was a mage.”

 

Marethari stopped her work for a moment, allowing Anders to relax. The skin beneath his eye was burning now, but Anders kept his face straight, even when the eye teared up a little.

  
“Almost done, Da’len,” she told him.

 

Anders gave a small nod, before gesturing for Fenris to come over to him. The elf reluctantly followed the silent invitation. As soon as he was close enough, Anders pressed his palm to the spot where the elf’s heart was beating strong and steady beneath his sternum. There was a brief, odd sensation inside his chest and Fenris frowned at the mage.

  
“What did you do?” he asked.

  
“Removed the ties,” Anders answered quietly. “There’s no need for them anymore.”

 

“Ties?” Fenris’ frown deepened.

 

“I tied my life force to you after battling the demon.” Anders gave a half smile. “It steadied me and helped me to return to this world, even when you weren’t close. Sorry for not telling you, I didn’t remember doing that.”

 

“So, whenever I was close, it _indeed_ caused something that made you calm?”

 

“Yes.” Anders pulled his hand away. “It’s…probably going to stop now.”

 

Marethari returned to Anders face and carefully continued, chanting once again as she applied the final touches of ink. Fenris gazed at the tattoo curiously. It wasn’t big, only covering the blond’s temple, ending in a beautiful swirl right beneath his eye. It would mostly be covered by the mage’s hair.

The ‘color’ was intriguing, though – Anders had objected to it being as visible as the tattoos on Mael’s face, which had earned him a scowl from the Warden Commander. Marethari had smiled at that. The color she had chosen both matched the mage’s hair and the color of his eyes and Fenris noticed it was actually only seen if illuminated by light, like the fire crackling nearby, shimmering golden under Anders’ pale skin when the mage tilted his head to assist the Keeper.

 

Hawke was right, it _was_ going to accentuate Anders’ eyes and knowing how ‘popular’ the mage was, especially at the Blooming Rose, Fenris foresaw himself having to fight off a lot of men and women in the future. It had been bad enough in the past already, with so many assuming the mage was actually _working_ in that place; Fenris had to chase away quite a number of them, not that Anders would ever hear about it. What the mage did whenever he healed the prostitutes there and Fenris wasn’t around…

 

Fenris growled. “What is going to stop, mage?” he asked.

 

“Binding one’s life force to another usually comes with side effects,” Anders murmured. “Through the ties, that you were unaware of, my emotions colored yours. That’s why you felt everything I felt when I revisited the moment I died. Sometimes, it transfers strongly, sometimes subtly.”

 

Varric’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“So, if I feel great affection for someone, it may result in them feeling affection when there would be none without the connection, or at least not to the same extent. Sometimes, it will color memories, distort them, add emotions or memories of moments that have never happened.” Anders closed his eyes when Marethari worked near his right one again. “I’ve done this once, with a dying child, in Amaranthine. I tied her life force to mine to keep her alive long enough, because I was low on mana and couldn’t have healed her in time if I had waited for it to restore first.”

 

“Aleah, wasn’t it?” Mael asked with a smile. “I remember her.”

 

“Sweet thing,” Anders agreed with a smile of his own. “Wonder what became of her.”

 

“From what I heard, she left Amaranthine with her mother but I don’t know where they went.”

 

“So, you are saying that –“ Fenris shook his head, a bitter expression on his face. “—what I feel isn’t real? Just a side effect of that connection between us?” His voice turned steely. “Is that what you are telling me?”

 

Amber eyes blinked open in surprise. “I –“

 

“Blondie,” Varric addressed him gently, but there was a warning in his voice. Anders glanced at the dwarf to see him shake his head.

 

“I am just saying it’s possible. Obviously, I could be completely wrong about that,” Anders stammered.

 

For a moment, Varric was absolutely certain Fenris was going to hit Anders in the face, by the way the elf’s hands curled into trembling fists and the muscles in his arms tensed. Certain enough that he took a step or two forward to – possibly – prevent that from happening, at least as long as Marethari was busy finishing that tattoo and the mage was at risk of losing an eye to very sharp, fine needles.

 

“No. I apologize,” Anders said gently. “I _am_ wrong about it.” He offered Fenris a smile. “I just remembered.”

  
“Remembered what?” Fenris gritted out angrily.

 

“ _Amatus_.”

 

A single word, spoken plain and simple, yet it had a strong effect on Fenris, who relaxed completely within an instant, anger vanishing from his features. Hawke’s brows furrowed when Varric slowly took a step backward with a grin.

 

“What’s that mean?” Hawke asked the dwarf quietly as he watched Fenris sit down next to Anders.

 

“I have no idea,” Varric replied, still grinning. “Not speaking Tevene, my friend.”

 

Marethari finally finished her work and stepped back to muster Anders. When the blond winced a little at the still present burn, she chuckled. “You may heal it,” she said and with a sigh of relief, Anders sent just the tiniest spark of cool healing magic to the now tattooed skin.

 

“Elgar’nan,” Merrill whispered.

 

“What does that mean?” Fenris asked when Anders let out a sad laugh next to him.

  
“The God of Vengeance,” Anders said humorlessly. “Really, you gave me a tattoo honoring the Elven God of Vengeance?” he asked Marethari.

 

“He does not only represent Vengeance, Child,” the Keeper replied with a smile. “He also represents fatherhood.”

 

“He who remade the world, according to legend,” Merrill said with an agreeing nod.

 

“Oh! Well -- I guess that’s good, yes?”

 

Fenris lifted a hand, touching warm fingertips to the barely there golden shimmer beneath the mage’s pale skin. It tickled, the skin overly sensitive now and Anders pulled away with a small giggle.

 

“Oh, I could _not_ bear having the skin on my face touched for days after I got mine,” Merrill said with a wide smile. “It’ll get better, lethallin.”

 

Marethari could not keep an amused smile from spreading on her lips when Fenris tried to touch it again, causing more giggles to escape the mage, who batted his hand away.

 

“I believe you all have tasks to see to,” she then addressed the entire group.

 

“Thank you for your help, Keeper,” Mael said. “I appreciate it.”

 

Marethari inclined her head at that. “Dareth shiral, friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Amatus – Beloved  
> Valasslin – Blood Writing  
> Dareth Shiral – An elven farewell (Safe journey)


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems Hawke missed the party at his estate...

It was already dark by the time they arrived in Kirkwall and Fenris thought it was unusually quiet on the streets as they walked across Hightown and toward Hawke’s mansion. Merrill did not accompany them back, stating she had matters to discuss with the Keeper and would return to Kirkwall soon.

 

To his surprise, Alistair and Mael were still accompanying them. Halfway back, they had met Zevran, who had exchanged a few hurried words with the Warden Commander, concern coloring his expression. Since Alistair had still been tired and not in any shapy to hurry back, and Mael refused to leave Alistair’s side, he had sent the Antivan elf back to Kirkwall quickly, with the promise to return to their little hideout as soon as possible. Fenris had expected them to part ways as soon as they reached the city gates.

 

They had met Cullen not too far from the gates; his look upon seeing Mael Tabris had spoken volumes and he had inclined his head in greeting to all of them – much to Anders’ surprise. Something in the Templar’s eyes had given Fenris a bad feeling, though he was sure they were in no danger. No, it was the silent request for help on something they were not aware of and he and Anders had exchanged a look as soon as they passed Cullen and his man patrolling a rather quiet Kirkwall.

 

“You are welcome to spend the night in my home instead of that run-down estate,” Hawke told Alistair. “I have to return to the Keep anyway, since people seem to expect me there at all hours and I’m sure Bran is short of having a nervous breakdown. When I returned after taking Anders to the Dalish Camp, he looked ready to murder someone.”

 

Alistair chuckled. “Being a Seneschal is not easy, especially since he already has to make excuses for the new viscount never available in his first days of reign.”

 

“Well, this viscount had more important matters to take care of.” Hawke shot Anders a fond look and was rewarded with a gentle smile. Fenris’ expression turned slightly sour at that. There was no denying that, in the past, he had often wondered about the nature of Anders’ and Hawke’s relationship, though there had never been any hint at something – romantical or, at the very  least, sexual and if they had been involved, Fenris was sure he would have heard about it from Varric. Hawke only ever stated that Anders was his best friend and Anders – well, he did have a gentle nature.

 

Merrill had once said that there’s more than only one kind of love in the world. Parents love their children, friends loved each other. Lovers loved each other intimately. Fenris thought he probably knew that once – to a time where he’d still been the man called Leto and not Danarius’ slave, with his memory erased.

 

“Orana will make sure you have comfortable, clean beds, a fire going and a warm meal in your stomachs,” Hawke expanded his offer and Fenris saw the hint of a smile on the Warden Commander’s face when Alistair looked happy at the prospect.

  
“Thank you for the offer, Viscount Hawke,” Mael said. “I believe I will have to accept it or Alistair won’t let me hear the end of it.”

 

Varric snorted in amusement.

 

“Shouldn’t we get Zevran and Nate?” Alistair asked around a yawn.

 

“I will. You need a bed, oh mighty King of Ferelden,” Mael teased.

 

“You’re making fun of me again, aren’t you?”

 

“Me? You were the one who once told me he was raised by dogs,” the Warden Commander shot back dryly. “Or that you sleep with your Templar armor hidden under your pillows because it’s so _shiny_.”

 

“Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

 

“Raised by dogs?” Varric asked around a chuckle.

  
“You are a story writer, aren’t you?” Mael smirked at the dwarf. “You should let Alistair tell you what he told me. He embellished the story, too. I almost believed him, especially when he did smell like one at the time and if you knew his eating habits…”

 

Alistair scowled at Mael.

 

“I’m game,” Varric declared cheerfully.

 

“We shall go home as well,” Fenris decided, glancing at Anders for confirmation. “The mage needs rest and I wouldn’t say no to a few hours of sleep, either.”

 

“You two make my teeth ache, that’s how sweet you are,” the dwarf drawled.

  
“Jealous?” Anders teased good-naturally.

 

“Ah no. Bianca keeps me warm at nights.” Varric reached up and batted Bianca lovingly.

 

“I won’t ask,” Mael grunted out, making Anders chuckle.

 

“Then I suggest we meet at Anders’ clinic tomorrow and see if we can find anything we’ve missed before,” Hawke said with a smile. “You can wait until tomorrow, right?”

 

Anders rolled his eyes. “You did make yourself crystal clear earlier, Garrett.”

 

“Well, that’s something.”

 

“Hawke.”

 

Something in Fenris’ voice made the entire group come to a halt immediately. Emerald green eyes narrowed at the warrior’s estate, now within their view.

  
“What’s wrong?” Hawke asked.

 

“See for yourself.” Fenris nodded at the entrance. The door was ajar – Bodahn or Orana always made sure it was locked up to keep unwanted visitors out. Rogue usually guarded the entrance as well, yet there was no sign of the mabari. The little lantern by the door Orana would light if Hawke was not home by nightfall, so he’d have enough light to find the lock, was unlit, indicating Orana had either forgotten, was not expecting Hawke tonight or – she never got the chance to lit it.

 

Next to Fenris, Mael tensed, reaching for his sword. “Alistair, return to the estate and get Zevran,” he murmured.

 

“Why?” Alistair argued quietly. “I’m not a child, for Maker’s sake.”

 

“You’re the king of Ferelden, though,” Anders spoke up from Fenris’ other side, staff already in hand.

  
“Hawke, you will leave, too,” Mael addressed his fellow warrior. “Return to the Keep, as you had planned. Just like Alistair, there’s no need to endanger your life. You have a city to reign.”

 

Garrett Hawke shot the Warden Commander a dark look.

 

“He’s right,” Varric said. “Go on. We’ve got this.”

 

“Where are Bodahn, Sandal and Orana?” Fenris murmured. It was definitely way too quiet tonight.

  
“We’ll find out,” Anders decided. “Hawke, Alistair – get going. We’ll inform you later.”

 

Alistair and Hawke had a matching look of annoyance on their faces, exchanging a look as each turned around, Alistair toward the Chantry, Hawke toward the shortest way to Viscount’s Keep, taking off quietly.

 

“Alistair will snap one day,” Anders commented as soon as the King of Ferelden was out of earshot.

  
“We will also thank me for it, one day,” Mael replied impassively. “I kept him from getting killed by Loghain. I kept him away from the Archdemon. I’ll continue to keep him out of trouble.”

 

“Huh, you sound like someone I know.” Anders shot Fenris an amused glance; his elf made a face at him.

 

“Come on then,” Varric murmured, one finger on Bianca’s trigger and slowly approached Hawke’s mansion. He stealthed as soon as he was a few steps away from the front door and carefully pushed it open, peeking inside.

 

The foyer was utter chaos; a fire was still crackling, but in dire need to be stoked, casting little light but still enough to recognize the mess. Furniture had been overthrown, there were glass splinters, books that had been torn apart, curtains ripped off. What had Varric stunned were the frozen Carta dwarves in the center of the room.

 

“Andraste’s tits,” he muttered.

 

“Whoa,” Anders called out behind him. “Sandal again?”

 

“Oh, he did pull that one in the Deep Roads, too, didn’t he?” The dwarf grinned.

 

“Sandal is here, too?” Mael asked, taking a look around.

 

“Bodahn and Sandal accompanied us to the Deep Roads, years ago. Sandal got lost and Hawke helped finding him. Bodahn offered his services to Hawke afterwards.” Fenris glanced at the Warden Commander. “You know them?”

 

“We met them in Lothering,” Mael confirmed. “They stayed with us for a while and kept us supplied. We parted ways when we left for Denerim and the Landsmeet and haven’t seen them since.” The elf smiled. “Glad to hear they are doing okay. Sandal was really good with enchantments.”

 

“He’s brilliant,” Anders agreed. “I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again.”

 

“If they are still alive,” Fenris grunted out, pushing past them and stalking into the foyer. There was blood on the carpets though it was impossible to tell if it stemmed from the invaders or one of the three people missing currently. Fenris had a hard time believing that either of them would use a weapon, except for Sandal, who had possibly frozen up these dwarves like he did with that ogre once.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Anders muttered, using his staff to light up the room some more.

 

“What could they have been looking for this time?” Mael wondered aloud.

 

“Hawke, would be my humble guess,” Varric said.

  
“Why would they make the same mistake twice?” Fenris snarled.

  
“And why did no one make sure they can’t break in again?” Anders added.

 

“Look at them,” Varric said, nodding at the dwarves. They all had been frozen mid-movement, glazed eyes staring into nothingness. Anders sent a searching spark of magic through the wall of ice and its captives. Definitely dead.

 

“They remind me of the crazed guards in Bartrand’s estate,” Fenris murmured.

 

“I was thinking the same thing,” Varric agreed with a nod. “Something strange happened to them.”

 

“Bartrand?” Mael asked.

 

“My brother. A story we should save for another time.”

 

 

Anders searched the estate in the meanwhile, quietly calling out for Hawke’s servant. The longer he went without receiving an answer, the more he got worried.

  
“Rogue?!” he hissed eventually. The mabari would not just run away; he would fight, till the bitter end if he had to. “Blighted dog,” Anders cursed when he once again was met with silence. His only hope had been Hawke’s bedroom, since it could be locked from inside and had quite a sturdy door, but the door was wide open and the bedroom completely dark. With a defeated sigh, Anders returned back downstairs, where he found Fenris looking for him already.

 

“Nobody home,” Anders announced.

  
“What is the meaning of his?” Fenris snarled at Mael. “What do they want from Hawke? You bring up the Warden prison and suddenly, the Carta takes an interest in our friend?”

 

“I don’t know,” Mael replied calmly. “I apologize, I wish I could give you an answer but I have none.”

 

“I shall speak to my spies,” Varric said. “I had them keep an eye on the Carta since we first found out they are somehow connected to the prison and Hawke’s family history.”

 

“The secret passage!” Anders shouted suddenly. With annoyance, Fenris noticed the mage had once again managed to slip away without him realizing. With a growl, he stalked toward the door leading to the estate’s basement. It was wide open, a cool breeze stinking of Darktown reaching him.

 

“Maybe they escaped?” Varric suggested just as Anders rushed off into the darkness, somehow overcoming his general dislike for it. Fenris sighed to himself and followed the mage, his markings flaring to life as he followed the ball of light on Anders’ staff, the only thing he could still see of him.

  
“Where does this lead?” Mael asked Varric, his elven eyes adjusting quickly, preventing the dwarf from almost stumbling down the narrow staircase by steering him away from a helmet. It was small, but sturdy. Mael guessed it belonged to one of the Carta dwarves.

 

“Darktown,” Varric replied. “We will exit right at Anders’ clinic. Hawke found this passage shortly after coming to Kirkwall. Once he’d called his family estate his own again and had the passage cleared, he gave Anders a key that allowed him to come here whenever there was need for it.”

 

Mael hummed. “It would seem Anders made some really great friends after running away from the Wardens.”

 

“The _best_ friends, Warden Commander,” the dwarf assured with a chuckle. “We have not left him out of our sight since the day we met. Well, except for Fenris, maybe. These two needed a bit longer but I daresay it was worth it.”

 

At that, Mael smiled – an honest to Maker wide smile that erased all seriousness from his face. Varric would bet his entire fortune that this kind of smile was rare for the Warden Commander – or at least reserved for someone special, whenever they were alone. Varric’s grin turned smug at the thought. He wondered if the Warden Commander would fancy a romance novel about him and the King of Ferelden…

 

“I am thankful for that,” Mael eventually said. “He looks happy. It makes me less mad about the fact that he ran away.”

 

“Well, that’s worth something.”

 

The passage ended and Varric watched Anders stumble a little as he bolted toward his clinic. Even from the distance, Varric could see that someone managed to break the _new_ lock on the door he had installed after their encounter with the Templars and he _hoped_ he had Sandal to thank for that, this time.

 

“Mage, slow down,” Fenris snarled, even though he sped up his steps once again as well to catch up with the blond.

 

“Blood,” Anders grunted out and Fenris looked at the ground. Indeed, there was a trail of blood leading to the clinic. _Not good_ , he thought.

 

He paused when the clinic door opened a fraction, a fireball growing in his palm.

 

“Hold it, Blondie!” Varric called.

 

“Well, hello there, Sparklefingers,” the shadow by the door greeted.

 

Anders sighed and let the fireball retreat. “Maker’s balls, Isabela, don’t do that.”

 

The pirate chuckled and, once she cast a quick look around, stepped outside, opening the door further in the process. Anders made a face at the blood on her clothes.

 

“What happened?”

 

“You arrived just in time,” Isabela said. “Hurry up.”

 

The four men followed the Rivain into the clinic. Isabela locked the door safely behind them.

 

“Praise the ancestors!” Bodahn greeted them. He looked upset. “We were worried they would set up a trap for you.”

 

“The Carta?” Varric asked, patting Bodahn’s shoulder. “Sandal took good care of them, worry not.”

 

“Enchantments!” Sandal replied helpfully from one of the cots; he was sitting on it, playing with something and looked like he had not a care in the world.

  
“Exactly, son, exactly,” Varric agreed with a nod.

 

Isabela brushed past Anders and Fenris, gesturing for the Spirit Healer to follow her. A pained moan was heard from the Anders’ former private rooms. The mage and the Tevinter elf exchanged a worried look and followed swiftly.

 

“Maker’s breath!” Anders exclaimed when he found Orana in his old bed. Her wounds, mostly across her upper body, had been dressed poorly by obviously unskilled hands and Isabela bit her lip at the mage’s questioning glance.

 

“I’m no good with this, Sparklefingers,” she muttered. “You do know that.”

 

“It’s alright,” Anders assured as he crouched down next to Orana. She was in a lot of pain and feverish. “What happened to her?”

 

“She was trying to fight of the first group of intruders when they stormed through the front door,” Bodahn explained as he stood by the door. “The poor thing felt so terrible for getting scared the last time they broke in, she thought she owed it to Serah Hawke to be more courageous.”

 

“Foolish girl,” Fenris grunted.

 

“She was trying to protect her _home_ ,” Anders replied, one hand hovering over her body as he mentally noted down the several injuries she had suffered. “There’s nothing foolish about that, Fenris.” The elf looked positively startled at the slightly sharp rebuke from the mage and looked at his feet.

 

“Apologies. You are right,” he murmured.

  
“What do you need?” Mael stepped into the narrow room, bumping shoulders with Fenris.

  
“Just myself,” Anders answered. “We’re good. Make sure we do not get any more unwanted visitors.” He glanced up to Isabela as Mael left to stand guard by the clinic entrance. “How did you get here?”

 

“I was at the Hanged Man when I caught hushed whispers about Carta dwarves haunting the streets once again. Seeing what happened the last time they showed up in Kirkwall, I figured they were heading for Hawke’s home again and got on my way, in hope to prevent the worst.” She shrugged. “I arrived a tad too late.”

  
“How long have you been down here?” Varric asked.

  
“A few hours. Sadly, most of your potions are ruined. I did what I could…” She gestured at Orana. “But I couldn’t –“

 

“I’m sorry,” Anders murmured. “I destroyed everything in a fit of rage and haven’t been here since…” He leaned over Orana, caressing the elf’s cheek. “It’s alright, Orana. You’ll be fine in a minute, promise.” She made a distressed noise in response.

 

Varric left the room to join Mael. Fenris leaned against the door frame and watched Anders close his eyes for a moment, concentrating. He remembered what Anders had told them at the Dalish Camp, about Spirit Healers summoning benevolent spirits for healing; he’d seen the mage do this before, pausing for a moment before letting strong healing magic flow and figured that’s what Anders had been doing – summoning a spirit.

 

Anders’ hands began to glow and he raised both to right above Orana’s fragile little body. Eyes still closed, he frowned in concentration as he began to heal torn flesh, bruised muscle, ruptured blood vessels and a broken rib.

 

Orana’s eyelids fluttered and quite suddenly, she flinched away with a small cry. “No, no please, don’t hurt me,” she croaked. Anders stopped immediately, shock clearly visible on his face.

  
“Orana, I would never…”

 

“ _Please_ , Messere…” she cried.

 

Fenris walked over to the cot and carefully reached out, grasping Orana’s shoulders. She blinked up to him, calming a little when she recognized the elf. “Hush,” he told her. “This is Anders. He would never hurt you. He’s not a magister.”

 

Wide eyed, Orana returned her gaze to Anders and immediately looked guilty. “Oh…oh, Messere Anders, I apologize, I didn’t—“

 

Anders forced himself to smile. “It’s alright. I startled you. May I finish healing you now?”

 

The blond elf nodded and slowly moved closer again. This time, she did not flinch or show any fear when Anders continued; with each second passing, the color returned to her face and she relaxed, freed of pain and discomfort.

 

“I did not mean to be a nuisance,” she murmured once Anders was done and pulled away. “The woman…Isabela…she has been taking care of me for…” Orana frowned.

 

“I’m right here, kitten,” Isabela said with a chuckle, making the blond elf jump a little.

 

“You’ve been here a while already until we found you,” Fenris said.

 

“And you’re _not_ a nuisance,” Anders added. “You were injured defending your home. I’d say that was rather brave of you, Orana.”

 

The now more lively elf blushed at the words. “Messere Hawke…is he alright?”

 

“Yes,” Fenris stated.

  
“Where _is_ Hawke anyway?” Isabela asked.

 

“We sent him to Viscount’s Keep to make sure he won’t end up terribly injured or dead, in case there were more surprises waiting at his estate,” Fenris told her.

 

The pirate nodded. “And what’s Tabris doing here?”

 

“You know him?”

 

“They’ve met before,” Anders said with a chuckle. “At the Pearl, in Denerim.”

 

Fenris scowled.

 

“Zevran’s in town, too, by the way,” Anders told Isabela. Her face lit up immediately.

  
“You don’t say,” she purred. “Where is he?”

 

“Alistair was sent back to their hideout in Hightown to retrieve Zevran. I assume he’ll catch up with us soon.”

 

“ _Alistair_ is here, too?”

 

“What, you weren’t told about him meddling in Kirkwall’s affairs?”

 

“Sweet thing, by Varric’s suggestion, I made myself as rare as humanly possible while Hawke was doing his political _thing_.” She grinned. “So no. What else did I miss?”

 

“Less than me, obviously,” Fenris grumbled. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that most of his friends somehow had connections in the past.

 

“Awww, sweet cheeks, what’s with that face?” Isabela cooed.

  
“We have more important things to care about right now.”

 

“Fenris is right,” Anders said with a nod. “Let’s get Orana, Bodahn and Sandal somewhere safe for the night.” He sighed. “Maker’s breath, talk about change of plans.”

 

Varric stepped into the room once again, offering Orana a reassuring smile, which she shyly returned. “Why don’t we take them to the Keep?” he suggested. “Hawke will be worried out of his skull as it is and probably prefer to have the three of them within arm’s reach so he can fuss.”

 

Fenris huffed out something that sounded like a suppressed laugh.

 

“I’ll go ahead,” Isabela offered. “Make sure the way’s cleared. Follow me in ten minutes, alright?” The pirate dashed off and Anders searched around for one of his thin blankets. Finding one, he carefully wrapped it around Orana’s tiny body and smiled at her.

  
“Come on, let’s find you a warm bed for the night so you can rest.”


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders, Fenris, a bed and a moment of truth.

Fenris awoke, blinking into the darkness of the bedroom. His mind instantly registered that the mage’s warmth next to him was missing, which was probably what had woken him.

 

The elf bolted up, only to relax instantly when he found Anders by the open bedroom window, gazing into the starless sky with a small frown on his face.

  
“What’s the matter?” Fenris rumbled sleepily. “Why are you still awake?”

 

At first, it seemed Anders did not hear him. Then, slowly, the mage turned his head toward him. He still looked utterly exhausted and Fenris instantly knew Anders had not slept at all yet.

 

“I was thinking about Orana’s reaction earlier,” Anders murmured. “It makes me wonder just what exactly magisters do to their slaves that she panicked when all I did was heal her.”

 

“It’s difficult to understand if you have never been in her situation. Or mine,” Fenris said. “I doubt any former Tevinter slave can claim to have positive experiences when it comes to mages. The horrors you witness…” He shook his head.

 

“When we found her in those caves, she seemed…hardly surprised at Hadriana’s deeds.”

 

“That is because she was not. It’s what you see in Tevinter. Slaves being sacrificed, killed for blood magic rituals or merely for entertainment. If they are not killed immediately, they are tortured for days and eventually beg for their master to end it because the pain is unbearable.”

 

Anders looked disgusted. “How can someone treat another this way?”

 

“I assume it is no different than what Templars do to mages,” Fenris murmured. “I saw your scars, mage and I am not foolish enough to believe you obtained them all in battle.”

 

“I didn’t.” Slowly, Anders made his way over to the bed and climbed in next to the elf. “Very often, Templars would gang up on a mage. Trying to break them, make them use blood magic just so they’d have a reason to kill them or make them Tranquil.” He gave a half-smile. “I got whipped, amongst other things, as punishment for escaping the Circle again and again.”

  
Fenris reached out and let his hand stroke down Anders’ back, feeling the thickest scars even through the thin fabrics of the shirt the mage wore.

  
“You once asked me if I have ever thought about killing myself,” Fenris said. Anders snorted.

  
“Yes and I do remember the answer you gave me.”

 

Fenris shrugged, a small smile playing across his lips. “Have you?” he asked.

 

“Thought about it?” Anders shrugged. “Yes. Numerous times, while I was in solitary. I keep thinking it’s almost like being Tranquil, except you still _feel_. Being cut off Fade powers was one thing. The worst for me was being all by myself in a small cell with no light. Not knowing how many days had passed, what season it was. Talking to myself, since I had no one to talk to. Sometimes, Templars would come by and humilate me further. I can see why so many went insane after being in solitary confinement. It just…it’s not something I’d wish upon anyone.”

 

Fenris hummed in agreement. Solitary was a regular punishment for slaves in Tevinter as well, though he never had the displeasure of experiencing that for the length of an entire year, like the man next to him.

 

“I will not let that happen to you again,” Fenris promised quietly. “No solitary confinement, no Tranquility and no Templar ever laying a hand on you.”

 

Anders smiled at that. “Because I’m yours?” he asked gently.

  
“A fact they better be aware of.”

 

Still smiling, Anders moved to straddle Fenris’ lap. Fenris allowed the mage to push him back down until he was lying flat on the bed with the mage on top of him. He reached up, fingertips caressing over the mage’s cheek where the _valasslin_ shimmered beneath freckled skin. Anders’ smile widened at that.

 

“I will not let it happen to you again,” Anders murmured as he caught Fenris’ hand with his own, kissing his fingertips gently. “No slavers, no magisters that abuse you. No blood magic used on you. Never owned again and no more leading a miserable existence in the Imperium.” He leaned down, bringing his mouth to Fenris’ for a chaste. “Because you are _mine_ ,” he whispered. “Mine to keep. Mine to protect,” he repeated the words he’d said to Nightmare.

 

Fenris went still beneath him and Anders worried his possessive words had awoken bad memories but when he glanced down, Fenris was smiling.

  
“Vere tua,” Fenris murmured.

 

“If you want to be,” Anders replied in kind, “amica mea.”

 

Fenris chuckled. “Mage, I am afraid if there was ever a moment to turn away from this, I missed it completely.”

 

Anders sat up again, amber eyes gazing at him seriously. “Fenris, if there’s ever a moment where you feel the need to turn away from this, from me – please do not fear I’d harm you for feeling that way.” He cupped the elf’s cheek with one hand. “You are a free man. Always remember that.”

 

“What will happen if I don’t?” Fenris asked.

 

The mage blinked at the question, lips pursing as he thought about the answer. “Well…if that moment never comes or you don’t seize it, you might end up stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

 

Fenris lifted an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips.

 

“Which is something to consider, really,” Anders continued. “You keep saying I babble a lot, often jump to the wrong conclusions and just for the record, Wardens have an almost never-ending sex drive, apart from suffering terrifying nightmares. I’m a mage, I throw fireballs around and fight for something you are not completely comfortable with, which I understand but I cannot let that keep me from continuing to fight for my freedom and, possibly, the freedom of mages in general. I do sometimes get demanding, and sulk if I don’t get the attention I crave. I will probably end up bringing a dozen cats home over the years. I get overly affectionate and clingy at times. And _Maker_ I –“

 

The elf started to chuckle. “You’re doing it again.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You’re _babbling_ , Anders.” There was fondness in his voice, in his eyes and in his smile when Fenris looked up.

 

The mage sighed. “I also really love it when you call me by my name.”

 

“Being with you is something I craved and was afraid of in equal parts,” Fenris told him. “Fear being the most dominant feeling for a long time.”

 

“Because I’m a mage,” Anders said with a nod.

 

“I will not keep you from fighting for your freedom or the freedom of those who deserve it,” Fenris continued. “You’ve taught me too much to still turn a blind eye on the fact that the situation in the Circles is dire for many. All I ask, Anders, is that you – try to stick to less drastic measures. I do not want to see you chained, made Tranquil or executed.” He got into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around Anders’ middle, pulling him closer. “If you do indeed end up bringing a dozen cats home, I expect you to take care of them.”

 

The blond smiled and leaned in to kiss the elf gently.

 

“I do still feel it,” Fenris murmured when they parted.

 

“Feel what?”

 

The elf took one of Anders’ hands, placing it on his bare chest. Fingertips gently teased over tanned skin and lyrium markings right above a steadily beating heart. Anders gazed at their joined hands curiously.

 

“Nothing _stopped_ , amatus.”

 

The blond exhaled shakily. Fenris watched Anders’ eyes squeeze shut before the mage buried his face in the elf’s white hair. Warm hands slipped under the mage’s shirt and caressed up the scarred back, feeling what little tension had gathered in the muscles ebb away at the touch. Anders’ body melted against his, slender hands coming to rest at Fenris’ waist, squeezing gently.

  
“You feared it would,” Fenris realized.

 

“Yes,” Anders murmured into his hair. “How you’ve not run away from me yet is a mystery I will probably never solve. You know what happened, what I’ve been harboring inside me before and what I am partially harboring still. You always said mages are dangerous monsters and remembering what happened, what my thoughts and emotions turned Justice into without me noticing before it was almost too late – I came to realize you’re right, at least when it comes to me.”

 

Fenris sighed at that, tightening his hold on the blond.

 

“One time, during another battle against the Qunari, Danarius was forced to leave me behind on Seheron, because the captain who was willing to take Danarius aboard and back to Tevinter told him there was no room for dirty slaves on his ship. Danarius left me with the promise to return, not knowing when that would be.”

 

“The same man so intent on getting you back, he sent slavers after us before facing us personally? He actually left you behind?”

 

Fenris snorted. “The very same. I was found by a tribe of Fog Warriors and believed my life forfeit. Instead of killing me, they sheltered me, gave me food and water and let me roam their camp freely. They gave me a first taste of freedom ever since I woke up…like _this_.”

 

“How long did you stay with them?”

  
“Months. At some point, I believed Danarius would not return. A slave is not worth the trouble.” The elf sighed again. “But one day, he returned. He gave a single command the moment our eyes met. _Kill them all_. And I did. Every single one of them, men, women and _children_ , Anders. All on a single command by a mere man who gave me not a fraction of what they had given me in the months I had lived with them.” Fenris pulled back a little to look the mage into the eyes. “So, tell me – whose deed was more nefarious, yours or mine? Who bears more blame on his shoulders, the man who joined with a Fade spirit or a man who did nothing but obey and slaughtered an entire tribe for no reason other than satisfying another’s need for a display of power?”

 

Amber eyes regarded him with sadness.

  
“They had treated me with respect and offered their friendship. I was able to make my own decisions and have them renowned. I decided what to eat, when to sleep, what clothes to wear. They have been nothing but generous and very good to me and when Danarius returned, they stood up for me and demanded he let me have my freedom. And _that_ is how I thanked them for everything they offered – I killed them without a second’s hesitation.”

 

Anders felt Fenris’ hands tremble against his back, years of suppressed guilt, shame and sadness coming to the surface. The elf’s expression was pained and there was a distinct glint of unshead tears in his green eyes.

 

“Tell me, Anders – who of us is the _true_ monster?” Fenris demanded. “You want to make sure I know whom I might possibly spend the rest of my life with, you deserve the same honesty.”

 

Anders cupped Fenris’ face with his palms and gently traced his thumbs along green eyes, catching a tear that threatened to spill.

 

“Fear and love are the most powerful motives that drive a man to make sometimes terrible decisions, Fenris. All you’ve learned after Danarius performed that disgusting ritual on you is to obey and you have been conditioned to do so. You knew nothing else until you stayed with the Fog Warriors. Obedience was an instinct to you like breathing and Maker knows what else Danarius did to you that he could so easily command you around. It’s ironic, knowing you guarded that man’s sleep while having the power to end his life with one strike.”

 

“It’s pathetic,” Fenris spat.

  
“Not to someone who hadn’t imagined there being something else but the life they know. It’s like I cannot imagine _not_ being a mage, because I don’t know what that feels like. Or rather, I do not remember.”

 

“I suppose,” the elf conceded.

 

“It makes what you have now all the more valuable,” Anders murmured, offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “And all of it, it’s _yours_ , Fenris. No matter what happens, no one can take this away from you. Even if all you have left is a bittersweet memory, should you ever find yourself chained again, it’s _yours_.”

 

“Danarius erased my memories.”

 

“No, he locked them away. They started to come back. And they will again.” Anders’ smile widened. “Of course, I will make sure you never end up caught in the first place, so there’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

 

Fenris couldn’t help but return the smile and their gazes locked. His hands remembered where they were and he tenderly, slowly, ran them down the expanse of the blond’s back, feeling the barest of shivers course through the mage’s body at the touch.

 

“You will,” Fenris murmured. He knew Anders would keep that promise because he _had_ kept it already, whether or not the blond was aware of it.

 

The mage hummed in agreement, a small gasp escaping his lips when Fenris grabbed his hips and pulled him closer still, his own hips thrusting up, their groins rubbing together for a delicious moment of friction that made heat pool in Fenris’ stomach. His hands travelled from narrow hips to a pair of nice, full cheeks and gave them a squeeze. Anders chuckled against his lips and Fenris let out an appreciative growl at the fact that the mage was not wearing smalls.

 

“You are a constant _temptation_ , mage.”

 

“Ah, I am not sure if you mean that as a compliment or if you’re scolding me.”

  
“Perhaps a bit of both,” Fenris grunted, pressing his lips to Anders’ for a heated kiss.

 

Slender hands gripped his shoulders and Fenris found himself pushed back once again. Green eyes blinked up in surprise, then slipped closed when Anders rolled his hips ever so slowly against him, the friction enough to make his already interested cock jump to full attention and a small moan to escape his mouth.

 

“So tell me, Fenris,” Anders whispered, “are you willing to give in to this _temptation_?” He rolled his hips again to punctuate his words and Fenris gripped the mage’s hips tightly, stilling his movements.

 

“I have given in a long time ago, Anders,” Fenris let the other man know. “Allowed this temptation to become more than just that, whether I had wanted to at the time or not.”

 

Anders looked at him curiously, keeping perfectly still on top of the elf.

 

“I can fight darkspawn, wyverns, spiders, slavers, Templars and blood mages,” Fenris murmured. “I can fight everything Thedas has to offer – except for _you_.” He grabbed the collar of the mage’s shirt and pulled him down with one, quick movement. Anders yelped in surprise, amber eyes wide when they looked at each other, noses almost touching. “Or my feelings for you,” Fenris added, quietly while his other hand released Anders’ hair from its tie, watching it flow down to the mage’s shoulders. “And a true warrior recognizes when it’s time to admit defeat.” He let his fingers thread through soft, blond strands. “Which I did, in that cave, at Hawke’s estate, when the pain and fear of losing you became too great and I could no longer ignore what you make me feel.”

  
“What happened?” Anders murmured.

 

“I cried, Anders,” Fenris admitted in kind. “And I couldn’t stop. Nothing I have ever experienced in my life has been more exhausting, or drained me more than crying for you and the opportunities lost to me forever, if you wouldn’t make it.” The elf released his hold on the mage’s shirt only to pull it off him completely before caressing down from the blond’s collar bone to his navel with a fingertip. “Cried for the things I would never know, because I couldn’t see past the hate bottled up inside me until it was too late.”

 

Anders lowered his body until his chest came to rest against Fenris’, one hand burying in the elf’s white hair and their noses brushing together.

 

“Cried for missing the chance to find out,” Fenris whispered, brushing his lips against the other man’s, “what would happen if I told you.”

 

“Tell me now, then,” Anders offered, pressing sweet, chaste kisses to the elf’s mouth. “No boulders around to crush me, as far as I can see.”

 

“You still make light of this?” the elf grumbled.

 

“Humor has often saved me from despair, Fenris. It’s like when you sought solace in drinking yourself into a stupor.” Anders smiled against the elf’s lips. “I like you better when you’re sober, come to think of it.”

 

Fenris huffed in amusement. “I’m staying sober so I can keep an eye on you with a clear head, blighted mage.”

 

Anders chuckled and pulled back, then moved until he could rest his head on Fenris’ chest. He closed his eyes when strong fingers began to caress through his hair.

 

“I would have told you that our continued trysts are not what I had originally been looking for when I approached you in your clinic, that particular night,” Fenris began quietly. “That I yearned for your touch, against what I believed to be my better judgement. How tiring it is to fight my attraction to you and everything it entails, even though you embody everything I despise. I would have told you that I do not want to meet up for stolen hours, but would know you by my side, day and night because it kept getting harder to leave each time or watch you leave.”

 

Anders sighed against the warm skin of the elf’s chest.

 

“I would have told you how infuriating it is, watching someone else steal glances at you or try to touch you, especially whenever we went to the Blooming Rose and that I want to claim you so they’d know you’re spoken for and would meet with the end of my blade if they tried anything.”

 

The mage chuckled at that. He would never know why he was so popular at the Blooming Rose but he was aware that it was highly entertaining to the rest of his friends. Sometimes, Anders wondered if Hawke dragged him along when they had to visit the place solely for the entertainment his presence provided.

 

Apparently, it had not been all that entertaining to Fenris.

 

“I would have told you that I want you to be mine,” Fenris murmured, “and I yours. Would have asked you if, despite how things had been between us, you were willing to look at me and see more than a runaway elf with a sorry excuse for a life as a free man that has nothing to offer you but all that he is and his heart that you stole in a moment of negligence.”

 

Anders’ eyes blinked open, gazing at tanned skin and lyrium lines shimmering in the dark. “Fenris…”

 

The elf fell silent, hand buried in blond hair still as fingertips calmly massaged the mage’s scalp, belying the noticeable tension that had otherwise taken hold of Fenris’ body. Anders remembered that night Fenris had asked him to come home with him; that night they went to Bartrand’s estate. Remembered them sitting in Fenris’ former bedroom with the elf baring some of his thoughts and raw emotions, the words that led to Anders seek him out later that night; marking the moment where things _did_ change between them.

  
“Had I found the courage,” Fenris spoke up once again, “I would have told you I love you. I may not fully understand yet what that means but I know it to be true.”

 

Anders rubbed his cheek against Fenris’ chest, almost like a cat seeking attention. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me then,” he told the elf.

 

“Why?”

 

“I wouldn’t have believed you. And if I had, I would have been scared and pushed you away. Bad things happen if I love someone.”

 

Fenris frowned.

 

“I get abandoned, betrayed or hurt. That’s my experience with love, up until now.” Anders half-buried his face against Fenris’ chest to make sure the elf could feel the smile on his lips. “But if someone like you, with your past and your experiences, can love someone like me, I suppose there’s still hope for me.” He kissed the warm skin tenderly. “And now I’m not afraid anymore because if the past few weeks have not proved you speak the truth, nothing else will. A wise man once told me, sometimes, actions speak louder than words and more than once, I found he’s right. I _have_ wanted you, Fenris, more than you can imagine, even before all this happened but despite that, I was too scared to admit it to myself and least of all you. And with Justice, it was simply too dangerous. Had I returned with that… _thing_ still inside me, you would have been the first.”

 

“The first?”

 

“The first whose life he would have ended and all I would have been capable of is watch, trapped inside my own body but no longer in control of my mind and actions. While I was in the Fade and separated from him, things were so much clearer inside my head and when you called out for me…” Anders sighed. “I realized what I could have, if only I’m brave enough.” The mage moved back up so he could rest his head on the elf’s shoulder instead and have strong arms envelope him in a comforting, protective embrace. “I kept focusing on you, the entire time. Your voice, your closeness. Tied myself to it so I wouldn’t lose you again. All I wanted to do once I wake up was tell you how I feel but when the day finally came, you were gone and I was…more damaged than I had anticipated.”

 

“Will you…be alright now?” Fenris asked quietly. “Is it done?”

 

“I can’t possibly be more alright, Fenris.” Anders smiled widely when Fenris looked at him. “I love you, too. Although, there is one thing that could make it even _more_ alright.”

 

“And what would that be?”

  
“If you would make love to me already, blighted elf! Getting me all worked up and _now_ …”

 

Fenris’ husky laugh echoed through the quiet night, loud and clear, liberating and carefree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Vere tua – Truly yours  
> Amica mea – My Love


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden Commander gets huffy puffy, Anders gets just a tiny bit fluffy, Zevran is naughty and Sebastian says "Hello" - kind of.  
> Chapter 26 will follow in a moment too, so don't be confused to see two new chapters (again). I am now working on the final chapters (aren't you happy the end is near?).
> 
> Also, biggest thanks to my Lizziebug who has taken it upon her to correct my mistakes <3

Zevran gave the clinic a scrutinizing look, arms crossed, nose wrinkling as he concentrated, sharp elven eyes taking in every bit of information they could find.

 

“So, the lock was broken, yes?” he asked Varric, who was inspecting said lock.

 

“No. Or, at least, not with the tools you’d use for this kind of task,” Varric muttered. “I haven’t found out yet how it was opened.”

 

“And all you found were a few cots pushed aside?” Zevran gestured around. “The chests had not been searched?”

 

“No,” Anders confirmed. “Nothing looked like it had been searched, nothing was broken, nothing seemed out of order save for a few cots and the door itself.” He had been busy cleaning up the mess he’d caused in his fit of rage, a few weeks back, when Mael and Zevran had arrived at the clinic. Hawke had sent a Guardsman to let them know he’d join them later – he wanted to have a look at his estate first and retrieve a few personal things, not deeming it safe enough for Orana, Bodahn or Sandal to return for the time being. The three of them had spent the night at the Keep, Orana falling asleep the moment Aveline had led her to her office and offered the small couch as bed for the night, before she and several of her Guardsmen had taken off to search the Hawke estate and get rid of the dead Carta dwarves.

 

“I would believe that whoever managed to get in here, despite that impressive lock the dear dwarf supplied for your door, was familiar with your clinic.” Zevran moved toward the center of the place. “They knew exactly where _not_ to look.”

 

Anders frowned. “A lot of people came here every day. They saw what I kept in my chests and were aware that I have _nothing_ of worth because what little I had, I gave away.”

 

“How many of them have the ability to force open a lock without breaking it?” Varric commented dryly and held up the lock in question. “I have three keys for this lock. One is in my possession, one in Hawke’s and the third one is yours, Blondie. Unless you had copies made?”

 

“I didn’t. You went through all the trouble of getting me that lock so I can sleep peacefully at night, I would have never been so careless to have copies of the key made to hand them out.”

 

“Not even Lirene?”

 

“Lirene knocks. Always has.”

 

Varric smirked. “Fenris?”

 

Zevran chuckled and Anders rolled his eyes. “He knocked – or phased through it. The latter usually rewarded him with a blow to his head or stomach, so he stopped that fairly soon.”

 

Varric guffawed at the image.

 

“What about the members of the mage underground?” Mael asked. He’d taken a seat at Anders’ desk, feet propped up on it while he let Zevran do his work. “Are they familiar with the clinic?”

 

“I let one or the other stay for a few hours, sometimes for a night, before helping them escape the city,” Anders murmured. “So yes, they knew my private rooms.”

 

“And the explosive?”

 

“I didn’t tell anyone about it. Not even them. That plan I – _Justice_ and I had, we didn’t want to include innocents in it. It was something we felt the need to do and saw no reason to have others involved and punished for it.”

 

“Maybe Justice told someone?” Varric suggested.

 

“What in Andraste’s name is that supposed to mean?” Anders said with a sigh. “Justice doesn’t talk to people.”

 

“How would you know? Justice took over a few times and you often had no memory of what happened while he did.”

 

Mael glanced up sharply. “That true?”

 

“It didn’t happen all that often,” Anders appeased. “Usually, he took over whenever I got enraged but I was still present, just not in control anymore. But I cannot see him wander around in my body at night, while I sleep and chat up people at the Hanged Man or something.”

 

Varric snorted. “No, Blondie, certainly not the Hanged Man, since he despises alcohol. But say, someone would sneak into your clinic at night. While you slept, Justice kept watch, didn’t he?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“So, someone comes to your clinic and speaks fondly of the cause you and Justice fought for. Would Justice feel inclined to reveal your plans to someone like that and not let you know about it?”

 

“Can he take over your body without you waking up from it?” Mael asked to clarify.

 

Anders visibly paled at the idea of that being possible. “I – I don’t know,” he eventually admitted. “I would say it’s possible but I don’t believe he did that.”

  
“We should speak to Alain, regardless,” Varric decided.

 

“I shall find him,” Zevran offered. “See what I can find out.”

 

“If anyone’s capable of sneaking into the Gallows and back out without being seen, it’s you,” Mael agreed.

 

“I can’t ask this of you,” Anders said. “It’s dangerous and _I_ caused this mess. I’ll find a way.”

 

“You’re not asking, my gorgeous mage. I’m offering, yes?” Zevran asked with a grin.

 

Anders made a face at him and Varric could see something unspoken pass between them that made Zevran’s grin turn lewd.

 

“Don’t,” Anders grunted out warningly.

 

“Really, you have the Antivan on your list of conquests, Blondie?” Varric teased.

 

“There’s a list?” Mael asked with a small smile.

 

“Or maybe he’s on the list of _my_ conquests, yes?” Zevran purred.

 

“I’m not listening!” Anders declared and marched off to his private rooms while Zevran cackled.

 

Varric chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t let Fenris find out. Might get you into trouble, Zev.”

 

“Might get him killed, too,” Mael remarked dryly.

 

“Ah, my dear Warden, you should know I’m not that easy to kill,” the Antivan pointed out with a smile.

 

“Really? Because when we met, it seemed fairly easy to me.”

 

“Only because I surrendered.” Zevran waggled his eyebrows.

 

Mael snorted.

 

“That sounds like a story I need to hear,” Varric commented.

 

Anders returned, carrying a small bag under his arm.

 

“What you got there?” the dwarf asked.

 

“Personal stuff. I don’t have much but what I have, I don’t want to go to waste or get stolen,” Anders explained. “So, it’s time I take this with me.”

  
“To where?”

 

“Home, Varric.” Anders smiled. “The clinic obviously isn’t home anymore. Although, Fenris did suggest I could re-open the clinic at his mansion. There are many rooms unused that he has no need for and he recently discovered his basement has a secret passage to Darktown as well that the sick could use to find me.”

 

“What, the two of you becoming domestic for good? Sweet!”

 

The mage blushed at that. “I guess.”

 

“Ah, you make me jealous,” Zevran said with a sigh. “I better find something to occupy myself with before I start mulling.” With a chuckle and a slight bow, the Antivan took his leave. Anders glanced at Mael, who rolled his eyes.

  
“You gotta find him someone,” Anders stated.

 

“Right. Because Zevran is not capable of finding someone whenever he pleases,” Mael deadpanned. “I’m a lot of things, Anders, but certainly no matchmaker.”

 

“Come to think of it, where’s your better half?” Varric inquired.

 

“My better --?” Mael’s brows furrowed. “Oh. You are speaking of Alistair. He and Nathaniel left for Denerim this morning.”

 

“You sent them back?” Anders gaped at Mael. “Why?”

 

“Mostly because of Nathaniel. Ever since we heard those whispers, he wasn’t doing well. Zevran found me halfway to the abandoned estate and said he was worried for him. Alistair is the most experienced, he’s seen this kind of thing before and Nate just really needed to get away. He was afraid to fall asleep, Anders. So, I suggested Alistair takes Nate with him back to Denerim and away from whatever seems to infiltrate his mind.”

 

“Whispers?” Varric asked.

 

“It’s a Warden thing.”

 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Anders muttered. “Ever since the Blight has been over, the two of you spent more time apart than together and I can see it bothers him. I couldn’t do it.”

 

“Do what?” Mael grunted out.

 

“Be away from someone I love most of the time.”

 

Green eyes widened in surprise and Varric thought the Warden Commander looked every bit like a scolded child. A flicker of guilt in those green depths before Mael schooled his expression and got off the chair.

  
“It is none of your business, Anders,” he stated calmly. “We will meet at the Hanged Man tonight, by Varric’s suggestion. Hopefully, Zevran will have useful information by then.”

  
“Where are you going?” Anders murmured when Mael headed for the door.

 

“I have important matters to deal with as well. We shall speak later.”

 

Varric watched Mael’s retreating form until the elven warrior left his sight, then glanced to Anders, one eyebrow lifted. “I think you hit home there, Blondie.”

 

“It’s not the first time I told him that, either,” Anders said with a sigh. “Each time I bring it up, he flees. I wonder…”

 

“Truth be told, it _is_ none of your business,” the dwarf pointed out.

 

“I know.” Another sigh and Anders forced a smile to his lips. “Let’s go.”

 

~*~

 

“It’ll take some time for the damage to be repaired. At least, we encountered no more Carta dwarves.”

 

Hawke sighed deeply, a frown on his face when Aveline finished her report on the state of his estate and the result of their search across Kirkwall.

 

“They shall be safe here,” Fenris spoke up from his spot by the window. “The Keep has servant quarters that Orana, Bodahn and Sandal can vacate until it’s safe enough for them to return to the estate.”

 

“I am not sure an overzealous dwarven boy should be running across the Keep and playing with enchanted runes,” Aveline pointed out. “I worry this might end with him blowing up the Keep and everyone in it.”

 

“Sandal may be a little – simple-minded but he knows what he’s doing and is no danger to anyone,” Hawke argued. “He hasn’t blown up the estate yet, either.”

 

“Fine,” Aveline muttered. “Back to the subject then – what does the Carta want from you, Hawke? I’d like to take precautionary measures for the Keep. I hate surprises.”

 

“I have no idea. The Warden Commander may know more and Varric hasn’t heard back from his contacts yet. He suggested we meet at the Hanged Man tonight and hopefully, we’ll have more information by then.”

 

“I really suggest you don’t go anywhere, Hawke. If they are after you, you’re in considerable danger,” Aveline pointed out.

 

“Aren’t I always?”

 

“We will protect him, as we always have,” Fenris let Aveline know. “You have no need to be worried.”

 

Aveline huffed. “Have it your way. I shall double the patrols and the guards for the Keep.”

 

Hawke gave a half-smile as he watched the Guard Captain stalk out of the room, making it a point to close the door behind herself loudly.

  
“Thank you, Fenris.”

 

“What for exactly?”

 

Hawke shook his head, his smile widening. “I still can’t believe I let the lot of you send me away last night.”

 

“It was the right decision.” Fenris rolled his shoulders and stepped away from the windows to join Hawke by the desk. “We didn’t know what to expect and you didn’t work so hard to make it here just to be killed by a bunch of crazed dwarves.”

 

Hawke huffed and pointed at the desk, filled with papers and still sealed letters from all over the Free Marches. “Had I known I would need to deal with this, I would have reconsidered.”

 

“Get the mage to help you, then. He was the one who brought up the idea in the first place,” Fenris suggested with a smirk.

 

“How is he anyway? He feeling alright?”

 

“I believe he is, yes. It was exhausting but he seems more settled now.” Fenris paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I shall have him live with me permanently, from now on.”

 

“Oh?”

“So, if you have need of him…”

 

Hawke chuckled. “I know where to find him, yes. Thank you. I’m happy to hear the two of you are taking that step.”

 

“He’s easier to keep an eye on when he’s near me.”

 

“Anders doesn’t need a babysitter, Fenris.” Garrett Hawke grinned at the elf. “For a long time, I thought he did but after hearing what happened to him, I know he doesn’t. He can look after himself.”

 

The elf hummed in agreement.

 

“Have you told him?”

 

“About what?”

 

“The truth. About Danarius.”

 

Fenris visibly bristled and he snarled, but calmed himself right away. “No. I see no reason to tell him…about that.”

 

Hawke looked doubtful but decided to let it go. Instead, he picked up one of the letters he received, the only one he had opened today and waved it in front of Fenris’ face. “I received word from Starkhaven, by the way. Sebastian said he got matters settled for now and will soon return to Kirkwall, for a little while.”

 

“He reclaimed his throne?” Fenris asked curiously.

  
“Not entirely but he made his claim on it known and was received positively for the greatest part. He was also delighted to hear I am now Viscount and ensured Starkhaven will be overjoyed to continue being our largest trading partner.”

  
“And naturally, he expects your support in reclaiming his throne,” the elf remarked dryly.

 

“He didn’t right-out say so but I did detect an underlying message of the nature, yes.”

 

“Politics disgust me.”

 

Hawke smiled understandingly. “Reminds you of Tevinter, doesn’t it?”

 

“Each favor always came with a prize,” Fenris agreed. “And the prize was always high. I do wonder why Sebastian is suddenly so keen on his throne and title, seeing as he always claimed to be content as a Chantry brother and his chaste life.”

 

“It would seem he changed his mind the day he asked us to help him avenge his family.” Hawke unfolded the letter, re-reading a few lines. “He also intends to restore Starkhaven’s Circle and told me he’ll have the mages transferred from Starkhaven to Kirkwall brought back when it’s done.”

 

“Anders won’t like that bit of information.”

 

“Anders hardly ever likes anything that has to do with Sebastian.”

 

Fenris huffed out a laugh. “You are right.”

 

“Sebastian also inquired after you. He – sounds like he misses you.”

 

“If he misses me so much, he could have written.”

 

Hawke chuckled at that and nodded in agreement, refraining from pointing out that Fenris wouldn’t have been able to read the letters, anyway, and that was probably the reason why Sebastian had not done so. “Anything you want me to tell him when I write back?”

 

“Let him know Fenris is faring well and content with his life right now.”

 

“I sure hope Sebastian won’t ask what that is supposed to mean, because I have no idea how to break it to him gently.”

 

“Break it to him not so gently then, I do not care what he’ll think.”

 

A laugh. “Duly noted, Ser Fenris.”

 

Fenris growled in response.

 

A knock at the door and Anders poked his head in, smiling widely at Hawke and Fenris. “Look at that, my two favorite men!” he greeted cheerfully.

 

“Really, Blondie. And what does that make me?” Varric’s voice carried in from the corridor outside.

  
“My favorite dwarf, of course!” Anders pushed the door open and let Varric enter the room first.

 

“He really is a heartbreaker,” Varric commented dryly and Hawke laughed at the two of them.

 

Fenris smirked at the dwarf. “Do not concern yourself with his heart,” he told him.

 

“Oh, I won’t, since I like _mine_ where it is, beating in my chest, thank you very much.” Varric barked out a laugh and patted Fenris’ shoulder. “You make an honest man out of him, consider me content with the knowledge.”

 

“Do I now?” Fenris quipped and Anders made a face at him before finding his smile again.

 

“So, what’s up? Any urgent matters you need assistance with, Garrett?” he asked.

 

“Not at the moment, though I have to meet up with a handful of nobles in an hour.” Hawke sighed. “Sorry I didn’t make it to the clinic in time.”

 

“Don’t worry.”

 

“Did you find anything?”

 

“Zevran is paying the Gallows a visit in hope of finding more information,” Varric answered. “I’ll be meeting with my contacts before we gather at the Hanged Man tonight. Zevran believes whoever broke into Blondie’s clinic knew what and _where_ to search, hence why it wasn’t a complete chaos by the time you got there.”

 

“It’s a good thing Aveline makes sure Darktown is patrolled regularly or we would have never known,” Hawke agreed.

 

“It worries me, though, since someone from the mage underground is most likely involved,” Anders pointed out. “I had been so careful…”

 

“It’s done, Anders. What’s important is that we find it before something terrible happens.”

 

“You should have the Keep searched from top to bottom, just in case,” Fenris suggested, pulling Anders close and taking one of his hands into his. “If the explosive indeed found its way into the Circle, that means Templars may find it.”

  
“Oh, wouldn’t that come in handy for Meredith, who is probably seething still that you were declared Viscount?” Varric said thoughtfully.

 

“I don’t want to know what will happen if she finds out that Alistair was not requested to put an end to the viscount matter by the governors of the Free Marchers,” Hawke said. “It’s only a matter of time. It’s a good thing Sebastian welcomed my appointment as Viscount, Starkhaven does have a great say in the matters of the Free Marches.”

 

“Sebastian?” Anders made a face. “He contacted you?”

 

“Received his letter just this morning. He promised to pay a visit, soon.”

 

“I’m overjoyed to hear that.”

 

Fenris snorted in amusement and squeezed Anders’ hand. “Do not concern yourself with him, Anders.”

 

“I cannot concern myself with someone who carries Andraste’s _face_ on his _crotch_.”

 

Hawke laughed at that. “You two really can’t stand each other, can you?”

 

“His mere presence reminds me that I am a sin in the eyes of the Maker, by Chantry beliefs, so no…I can’t stand him.” Anders frowned. “He reminds me of my father.”

 

“Ouch,” Varric commented, his face showing nothing but sympathy.

 

“I better not overhear him ever actually _saying_ that to you,” Hawke said, “or he’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

 

“If he dares, I’ll burn Andraste off his crotch,” Anders assured. “Or maybe I’ll burn his crotch in general.”

  
“Anders,” Fenris chuckled.

  
“What? He decided to live a chaste life, I’m just helping with that!”

 

“Blondie may have a point there,” Varric said with a grin.

 

Hawke shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “Oh! I just remembered there may be something you can be of help with, Varric.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Apparently, one of the merchants is making it very hard for others to sell their goods. He keeps sending bullies to scare them away, taking their goods and what little money they managed to make.” Hawke searched his desk for a moment until he found the hastily scribbled letter and showed it to Varric. “That guy has a warehouse by the docks.”

 

“Consider it done,” Varric said with a nod as he stuffed the letter into one of his many pockets. “I’ll make sure to _explain_ to him why it is necessary that the merchants stick together.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Anything else?” Fenris asked.

 

Hawke sighed. “Meredith had Karras arrested as promised and let me know she will have him questioned this afternoon. Orsino is still trying to carefully approach every single mage in the Circle to find out if any of them have suffered abuse. He already approached Alain but let me know the boy denied it and ran off.”

 

“Will she agree to have Anders try and talk to him?”

 

“Me? Going to the Gallows?” Anders looked sickened at the thought. “Maker, no.”

 

“Maybe she can be convinced to bring him into the courtyard instead,” Fenris suggested.

 

“A courtyard filled with _Templars_. Awesome idea.”

 

“You’re under my protection,” Hawke said. “I don’t know if it counts for much but for the time being, I doubt Meredith would dare send the Templars after you, especially in public. She certainly has not given up on claiming the title of viscount for herself yet but she realized she has to play by the rules.”

 

“Hawke is right,” Fenris pointed out.

 

“Fine,” Anders said, admitting defeat. “I will try although I sincerely doubt Alain is willing to speak to me. I have disappointed him by stating I will no longer support the mage underground and if he doesn’t want to speak to Orsino…”

 

“I shall be present when Karras is questioned,” the elf next to him offered. “Although I have doubts that he will admit to anything.”

 

“Of course he won’t, that disgusting bastard,” Anders gritted out. “And even if he does, Meredith will find excuses to make for his actions.”

 

“Meredith seemed taken aback when we let her know about the accusations,” Hawke said. “I’m not sure she will actually make excuses for him.”

 

“I’m afraid we will have to wait and see,” Varric concluded. “I will be off to find my contacts. Luckily, they are the same guys I would have contacted concerning the merchant matter.” He patted the pocket that contained the letter. “I will let you know how it went, Hawke.”

 

“Thank you. Again.”

 

Varric waved him off as he walked toward the door. “Don’t mention it, Hawke.”

 

Anders looked after the dwarf thoughtfully before nodding to himself and handing his bag to Fenris.

  
“What is this?” the elf asked.

 

“My personal belongings. Brought them with me to take home,” Anders explained.

 

Fenris’ features softened at the words. “Why give them to me?”

 

“I’ll go to the Gallows. Speak to the Tranquil and any Circle mage I meet. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch Alain as well.”

  
“ _Alone_?”

 

Anders smiled. “Why not? It would seem the Templars can’t drain me anymore, so I don’t have anything to worry about, do I? I’ll meet you at the Hanged Man later, unless I return before our meeting there.”

 

“You sure about that?” Hawke asked, eyebrows raised.

 

“Well, _I_ am not,” Fenris snarled.

 

Anders cupped the elf’s face and kissed him. “Don’t worry about me.”

  
“Where did I hear that one before?” the elf muttered.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders pays a visit to the Gallows, meeting old allies.  
> Zevran is being very naughty (don't tell the other elf) but it's all for the greater good, yes?
> 
> Also - the plot slowly thickens. The end is indeed near ~

Anders slowly entered the Gallow’s Courtyard and paused for a moment when he immediately caught sight of three Tranquil offering their goods. Two of them, he recognized and his stomach twisted. He had heard that the Starkhaven mages they had helped to escape, along with Ser Thrask who had asked for their assistance and had them come out to the Wounded Coast, had been recaptured. Anders figured he shouldn’t be surprised that some of them had received the brand as punishment, no doubt Alrik’s or Karras’ doing, but it was still painful to see them move around, soulless vessels, shadows of the young people they used to be. People with dreams and hopes, shattered when the Templars found them and now they didn’t even know what it was like _having_ dreams.

 

He felt anger well up inside him and took a deep breath to calm himself. He wasn’t here to cause trouble. Not today, at least.

 

“Anders?”

 

Surprised, the blond looked up to find Ser Thrask approach him, looking just as surprised as him.

  
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Thrask said. “Last I heard, there were rumors you’d left Kirkwall for good, taken into custody by the King of Ferelden.”

 

Anders glanced past the Templar and frowned when he spotted Cullen, who was busy appointing tasks to a group of young Templar recruits. Their eyes met for a moment and Cullen inclined his head before focusing on the recruits again.

 

Maker be damned, Cullen had kept his word.

 

He looked back to Thrask and winced at how close he found himself standing to the Templar. Thrask seemed to sense his uneasiness and offered a friendly smile.

 

“One would think you know you have no reason to fear me.”

 

“I don’t,” Anders replied. “Doesn’t mean you don’t make me uneasy.”

 

“I apologize,” Thrask said and he looked sincere. “What brings you here?”

 

“I am looking to speak with the Tranquil and…some mages.” Anders glanced around. “I was hoping to find Alain, too.”

 

“Ah.” Thrask nodded, a knowing look on his face. “You should not be too obvious when you talk to them, though. The walls have eyes and ears and Meredith still enough Templars faithful to her that they will let her know they saw you.”

 

“Are you saying there are Templars that don’t agree with Meredith’s ideas of how to handle the Circle?”

 

“More than you think.” Thrask smiled. “I shall see if I can find Alain for you and send him here. Be careful.”

 

Anders waited until Thrask had disappeared inside the Gallows before collecting himself and making his way for the Tranquil and their stalls. He was glad he had left his staff with Fenris before taking off. It made it easier to blend in and disappear in the crowd. He made sure to steer clear from the Templars and almost sighed in relief when he reached the first stall.

 

 

To his disappointment, the Tranquil revealed nothing. One refused to speak alltogether or maybe he _couldn’t_ speak anymore. Anders had heard horrible stories of mages that had their tongues cut out to silence them and he didn’t dare use magic on her to find out if that was the case. One of the Starkhaven mages recognized him and had the wits to keep his voice low as they spoke, like he still remembered how they had originally met and that Anders would be in trouble if they were overheard. Their toneless voices and impassive faces were _painful_.

 

He just left the third stall when he saw Alain, only a few feet away from him. Anders gestured for the young mage to follow him behind one of the stalls, where the shadows offered a bit of protection. Alain seemed reluctant to follow the invitation, glancing around nervously. Eventually, he moved and joined Anders.

  
“Why are you here?” Alain asked. He seemed nervous.

 

“Why won’t you tell Orsino what you told Hawke and me?” Anders asked right back. “Hawke is trying to help and we can’t put a stop to the abuses if no one is willing to admit the accusations are true.”

 

“And what do you think will happen if I tell them?” Alain hissed. “I will come back here and find myself _dead_ within moments. I thought you no longer had an interest in the plight of mages?”

 

“I didn’t say that. Just that I will no longer stick my head out for those who refuse to fight for themselves, Alain. Of _course_ the plight of mages is still important to me and so is your safety.” Anders sighed. “Karras was taken into custody. I am sure Thrask would be willing to keep you safe after you give your statement. I know he’s a Templar and everything, but may I remind you it was him who helped you and your fellow mages escape in the first place?”

 

“How much good that brought us!”

 

“Alain, we were not responsible for either of you being recaptured.”

 

Alain shook his head. “How come you’re even here? I thought the Grey Wardens took you into custody.”

 

“That’s a very long story we don’t have the time for right now.” Anders grabbed Alain’s shoulders carefully; the young mage tensed. “Alain, _please_. Speak up for those who have suffered the same as you have. Let them know what Karras is doing.”

 

Again, the young mage shook his head.

 

“Why not?” Anders murmured.

 

“Nothing will change. Meredith may be keen to taking action right now after she was publically presented with the accusations against Alrik and Karras, but do you really think they have to face punishment? Meredith is _insane_ , Anders and she’s getting worse every day. You know that. You’ve always said so yourself. You think Karras is the problem? She wants to see us all Tranquil, but unlike Alrik, she is not stupid enough to announce that to the entire world. She does it subtly, keeps looking for reasons to declare either of us dangerous and why we need the brand.” There was fire in Alain’s eyes now that Anders remembered to have seen in his own, for years, when Justice was still joined with him. “She thinks we are _cursed_ , Anders. She has no interest in keeping us or the rest of Thedas safe, she wants to control us and, if we don’t play by her rules, _eliminate_ us where we stand. No one who comes into this Circle ever comes out, at least not alive.”

 

“I know,” Anders appeased, pulling Alain close. The young mage surprised the blond by burying his face against his chest. “I know all that, Alain, but we have to tread carefully,” the blond murmured. “Revealing to the world what mages suffer in the Circles is the first step in the downfall of the Templar order. It needs patience and pulling the right strings but I promise you, Kirkwall will be first in showing the rest of Thedas how it _could_ be and that we are not monsters to be feared.”

 

Alain exhaled shakily and shook his head, once again. “She is up to something and we don’t have the time for that anymore, Anders,” he murmured. “We need to take actions now. We cannot wait for you and your friends to help us. You yourself said we have to fight for ourselves and that is what she said we will do.”

 

“She?” Anders pulled back. “Who is _she_?”

 

The younger mage bit his lip. “I’ve said too much already. I must go.”

 

“Wait.” Anders grabbed Alain’s arm. “One last thing, Alain…someone broke into my clinic and took something very dangerous. Do you happen to know anything about that?”

 

The Starkhaven mage suddenly looked panicked, his gaze travelling across the expanse of the courtyard. Anders’ eyes followed his and he felt Alain tense when his eyes locked with someone Anders couldn’t see.

 

“I know nothing,” Alain stammered. “I need to go. And so should you, if you don’t want the Templars to find you. Meredith doesn’t care if Hawke is viscount, she’ll have you arrested and killed before he even hears about it.”

 

“Alain, what’s going on?” Anders demanded to know in a stern voice. “Who is _she_ and what is she planning?”

 

Alain yanked his arm free and bolted, almost running into a young noble woman currently checking out what the Tranquil had to offer. Her indignant protest drew the attention of a small group of Templars.

 

“Maker damn it!” Anders cursed and moved to follow Alain against his better judgment.

 

Strong hands grabbed him and before Anders had a chance to react, he found himself pulled back into the shadows and thrust against the wall. The same strong hands pinned his above his head against cold stone, a slender body moving close, pressing up tightly against him. Anders tensed when one knee pushed between his thighs and suggestively nudged against his crotch.

  
“Let me –“

 

His protest was cut off by a mouth, hot and unforgiving, pressing against his. Anders felt his pulse quicken and tried to move at least one hand enough to cast a defensive spell against his attacker. The knee between his legs pushed up forcefully enough to give his balls agony and Anders moaned against the other’s mouth.

 

Someone made a disgusted noise, another laughed. “No wonder the boy ran, I would have, too.”

 

“Remove yourself from the courtyard,” a third voice snarled at them. Anders listened to the sounds of heavy boots distancing themselves and one voice ordering to take the “mage boy” back to where he belonged.

 

His attacker finally pulled back and Anders shoved him away further with a snarl, calling on his magic to retaliate.

  
“How dare—“

 

“Now, now, my beautiful mage, I was only making sure you won’t join the boy in the Gallows.”

 

“Zevran!” Anders hissed when he finally recognized the cloaked figure in front of him. “Maker _damnit_ , what were you thinking? You can’t just –“

 

“Apologies if I caused you discomfort.” Zevran pushed back the hood and offered Anders a lopsided smile. “But in that second I had to keep you from doing something very stupid, I had no better idea than make them think we scared the boy off with our amorous actions.”

 

With a scowl, Anders grabbed his crotch and send a spark of healing magic to stop it from throbbing.

  
“At least, I finally know what you are hiding in those pants of yours,” the Antivan purred and Anders felt his cheeks flush hotly. “Fenris is a very lucky man, yes?”

 

“And you a very filthy one!”

 

Zevran chuckled and winked at the mage. “No, really, I do apologize. I could feel your rapidly beating pulse and smell your fear. Not something I usually encounter when I get up close and personal with someone. I did not mean to wake bad memories.”

 

“No worries, _Templars_ don’t kiss,” Anders gritted out. Zevran’s playfulness faded at that and he cast a dark look at the Templars still in the courtyard.

 

“Should I ever encounter a Templar touching you, it will cost him his manhood,” Zevran promised with a small bow. “At the very least.”

 

Anders let out a long sigh, allowing himself to slump against the wall. “What are you doing here?”

  
“I just returned from the Gallows and was on my way to find something to eat and drink, yes? Care to join me?”

 

“Were you able to find out anything at all?”

 

Zevran smiled wickedly. “Come, my friend.”

 

 

Anders followed the Antivan, who made sure they stayed in the safety of the shadows until the Gallows lay behind them. He grabbed Anders’ wrist and pulled him into the crowd that had gathered on Hightown Square for shopping or merely to socialize. No one paid them any attention as Zevran purchased them a bag of fresh apples, handing Anders one as soon as they left the stall. The mage glanced at the apple in his hand and couldn’t help but smile at the memories that sight brought back.

 

“I like your new tattoo, my friend,” Zevran said as he chewed. “I believe you received it from the Keeper, yes?”

 

Anders reached up and rubbed over the valasslin. “She said it might help to make sure I…won’t get possessed. Again.”

 

“Beautiful work.”

 

Zevran steered them away from the crowd and picked another apple from his bag.

 

“Start talking,” Anders muttered.

 

“Oh, where to start?” The elf chuckled. “It would seem that lately, Meredith is not acting like herself. There are hushed whispers in the Gallows, from mages and Templars alike. It would also seem that a group of rebels formed that seeks to conspire against the Knight-Commander and see her brought down as soon as possible. The conspiracy is led by a Templar.”

 

Amber eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

 

“By the name of Ser Thrask. Do you know him?”

 

“That blighted bastard,” Anders cursed under his breath. “You got any more names?”

  
“A mage by the name of Grace.”

 

_Grace_.

 

“That’s whom he was speaking of.”

 

“The boy?”

 

“Alain, yes. He said she told them it’s time to fight and they cannot wait any longer. Grace was the leader of a group of Starkhaven mages that escaped the Kirkwall Circle, years ago. Thrask already supported them back then. Her lover, Decimus, turned to blood magic and endangered them all. We found Alain at the entrance of the cave they hid in and he readily turned himself in to the Templars, too shocked to witness what Decimus was doing.” Anders sighed. “She led them away while we bought them time, holding back the Templars. Sadly, all of them were recaptured and taken back to Kirkwall.”

 

“Why would Ser Thrask help the mages?” Zevran asked. “He’s risking his head.”

 

“He had a daughter. Olivia. She was a mage, too.”

  
“Was?”

 

“Thrask asked us to find her. He had kept her hidden from the Circle, knowing what awaits mages here. He meant to protect her. When we finally found Olivia, she turned out to be an abomination and we had no choice but to kill her.” Anders toyed with the apple in his hand. “She loved him dearly and had meant to leave Kirkwall to ensure his safety. She was cornered by slavers and saw no other way. I wish we had arrived sooner to prevent her from giving into a demon’s temptation.”

 

“How very unfortunate,” Zevran agreed quietly. “That must have caused him great pain.”

  
“And is probably the reason why he continues to support mages. Whenever mages were in danger, Thrask would make sure to take actions or deliver a note to Hawke so we’d look into it.”

 

“It would seem not all Templars are bad, yes?”

 

Anders huffed out a laugh. “No, just like not all mages are _bad_. But I have yet to meet a Templar who stands up for his beliefs rather than cowering and obeying their superior and fulfilling their duty.” He glanced at Zevran. “Anything else?”

  
“Well, there _is_ talk about a secret weapon the conspirators have in their possession.”

 

The mage’s heart skipped a beat.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translations once again at the bottom.  
> And once again, many many thanks to my Lizbug for checking this over :D

Hawke leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes. It had taken hours but at least, he had finished reading each and every letter that Seneschal Bran had brought in. His head was positively swimming and his eyes tearing up.

 

“Serah Hawke?” Bran addressed him curtly. “Anything I can be of help with?”

 

Garrett Hawke blinked in surprise and eyed the Seneschal standing before him. When had Bran come in?

 

A quick glance to the windows revealed it was getting dark already. He was going to be late for the meeting at the Hanged Man.

 

It had been a long day – meeting with the nobles that asked rather inquisitive questions about his appointment, only to be silenced by Bran pointing out that the Prince of Starkhaven had approved of Hawke’s appointment as well. Fenris, a silent shadow in the background, had smirked and shot him an amused look. By Fenris standards, the elf seemed rather cheerful today and it warmed Garrett’s heart to know that Anders was most certainly responsible for that.

 

A messenger from the Gallows had informed him about Meredith postponing the questioning of Ser Karras because she was investigating “a very serious” case that she would later inform Hawke about, if he so desired, but assured that Karras would remain in his cell and “away from the mages he supposedly harmed”. Hawke had almost laughed at the messenger’s attempt to bring across the disdain that must have dripped from Meredith’s words when she told him what to tell Hawke. He had dismissed the nervous boy, exchanging a glance with Fenris, whose face had darkened.

 

Hawke had then decided to use the time he had to take care of the mail. Every time he was finished with one stack, Bran brought in more. He distantly remembered Bodahn and Orana coming in to bring something to eat and drink. The empty plate and cup still sat on his desk.

 

“Serah Hawke?”

 

Again, Garrett blinked at Bran. “I am sorry,” he said. “I got lost in thoughts.”

 

“Anything I can help with before I finish my work for the day?” Bran seemed reluctant. Hawke thought he could not blame the man, who had had high ambitions to become viscount himself, even though Hawke did not see that happen while Meredith was still asserting a claim herself.

 

Hawke offered the man a crooked smile. “How about you finish up now and we speak in the morning, Seneschal?”

  
“As you wish.” Bran shuffled out of the office and closed the door. Hawke sighed deeply and slumped in his chair.

 

“You should endeavor to find someone suitable for the post of viscount, since it seems to bore you to death.”

 

Hawke chuckled. “You’re still here?” He glanced up when Fenris emerged from the shadows. “You can be really really quiet, can’t you?”

 

“If I wish to be,” Fenris agreed with a nod.

 

“I can’t see myself do this for the rest of my life.” Hawke gestured at the desk.

  
“Neither can I.” The elf offered an amused smile. “You belong out there, slaying…things. Stir up trouble. You know, the fun kind of activity.”

 

Garrett Hawke laughed at that. “You are so right.” He stretched his long legs and got out of the chair with a groan. “Why are you still here? You must be bored to death as well.”

 

“I’m used to this kind of thing. Spending all day in one place, motionless, but never unobservant. Waiting for a look, a gesture or a single command.”

 

“You’re not my bodyguard, Fenris.”

 

“No, but I used to be someone’s bodyguard and chose to keep an eye out for a friend. Just in case, of course.” The elf harrumphed. “Not to mention it keeps me distracted so I won’t go and chase down a certain apostate mage to keep _him_ out of trouble.”

 

“He’s probably already waiting at the Hanged Man.” Hawke smiled. “And I appreciate it, Fenris. I really do. Just – try not to get yourself killed in the process, alright?”

 

 

There was a sudden commotion outside in the corridor and Hawke saw Fenris change his stance immediately. The elf was every bit as lethal and intimidating as Danarius had meant him to be and Hawke once again found himself wondering – if the two of them would ever end up in a one-on-one combat, who’d have the upper hand in the end?

 

He hoped he would never have to find out.

 

Bran’s feeble protests were the only warning they got before the door was opened with force. Fenris immediately drew his sword and flew to Hawke’s side.

 

Knight-Commander Meredith grimaced as she looked at Hawke, then glanced at the sharp end of Fenris’ blade not too far from her throat. “Call your dog back, _Viscount_ ,” she snarled.

 

“Knight-Commander,” Hawke greeted. “Perhaps the _dog_ will retreat by himself if you pay him a little more respect.”

  
“Apologies, Serah,” Bran spoke up behind Meredith.

 

“It’s quite alright, Seneschal, thank you.”

 

“Perhaps the _dog_ would have no reason to charge if the Knight-Commander learned how to _knock_ ,” Fenris snarled right back at the woman.

 

Hawke could literally see the litany of insults Meredith had at the tip of her tongue as she stared at the elf, but she thought better of it.

  
“My humble apologies,” she sneered. “I would have not made such an entrance if there was no good reason for it.”

 

Slowly, Fenris lowered his sword, but did not move a fraction.

  
“And what reason would that be?” Hawke asked.

 

“It has been brought to my attention that there are conspirators in the Circle who pose a risk for you, the Circle and Grand Cleric Elthina. A handful of mages and a few Templars have collaborated to plan an act of terrorism.”

 

Hawke quirked an eyebrow. “An act of _terrorism_?”

 

“I was informed they are in possession of a mixture that can be used as a strong explosive.”

 

It took everything for both Hawke and Fenris to keep their faces straight.

 

“I have arrested the driving forces of said conspiration and the explosive was discovered.”

 

Meredith looked at Hawke expectantly.

  
“An…explosive,” Hawke repeated slowly. “And what did they plan to use it for?”

 

“My sources suggest they planned to either blow up the Gallows, the Chantry or even the Keep,” she replied.

 

The Templars had found it. Anders’ mixture. Hawke wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified at the thought.

 

“How did the mages in the Circle manage to obtain an explosive? Did you not claim they were strictly watched?” Fenris muttered.

  
“Someone from outside must have helped them. The ingredients used for the mixture cannot be obtained inside the Circle, the storekeeper assured me. My men are questioning the perpetrators as we speak.” Meredith growled. “One of them is Ser Thrask.”

 

Hawke bit the insides of his cheek to continue to keep his face straight. He remembered that Templar. A good man, someone even Anders could actually tolerate because Thrask had a good heart and an interest in living peacefully with the mages.

 

“The rest of them, probably not very surprising, stem from the group of Starkhaven mages that escaped once and were recaptured about a year ago.”

 

“What…” Hawke cleared his throat. “What will you do once you’re done questioning them?”

 

“That is up to me and the First Enchanter to decide,” Meredith let him know. “I came here to inform you myself about the matter. I know you are charitable when it comes to mages, obviously thanks to spending too much time around an apostate mage who likes to cause trouble.”

 

Fenris’ eyes narrowed.

  
“I do not wish to have another public debate with you if you hear about it from someone else. It is most likely that the traitors will be executed or receive the brand, if you must know.”

 

“Orsino will have to agree first, though,” Hawke pointed out.

  
“ _Orsino_ is not capable of leading this Circle, Champion. If he were, we wouldn’t have to deal with this in the first place. But the law demands that he and I decide together on the fate of mages that prove too dangerous.” Meredith sighed, her stance relaxing a little.

 

“Wouldn’t it be important to find out why these mages and Templars planned something so terrible in the first place?” Hawke was trying the diplomatic way now. “They respect Elthina. Why don’t you let her talk to them after they were questioned?”

  
“To what avail?” Meredith growled. “Elthina will get soft and pledge on their behalf, like she usually does.”

 

“And it never occurred to you that maybe, that’s the right thing to do? The mages in Kirkwall have brought up numerous complaints about how they are treated. Is it so surprising that they would think of such actions if only to make someone listen?”

 

“So far, I have found no proof that the accusations you presented are true. Orsino has spoken to almost any mage and Tranquil in the Circle and none confirmed that they have been abused, in whichever way, by a Templar.”

 

“They are _scared_ , Meredith,” Hawke exclaimed. “They know what happens if they dare speak against you or either of your men.”

 

“I have done nothing but protect them from themselves,” Meredith snarled right back. “Neither have I ever given any indication that I am unwilling to listen to them if there is indeed something going on that demands my attention, _especially_ when it concerns the Templars under my command.”

 

Fenris offered a scornful huff but remained silent otherwise.

 

“This is not a matter to concern yourself with, Hawke,” the Knight-Commander pointed out. “The Circle is my responsibility. Your responsibility is to rule the city. I am merely abiding to the King’s wish to collaborate and am hereby letting you know that I am indeed protecting the city.”

 

“I appreciate that,” Hawke said with remorse. He knew she was right – he could not do anything on the behalf of the conspirators other than ask for mercy but he sincerely doubted Meredith even knew what that was.

 

“Good night,” she said, then turned around and left. Bran stumbled aside when she brushed past him and for a moment, his usually impassive features gave way to obvious dislike.

 

“Bran…would you be so kind to inform Elthina about this?” Hawke asked quietly. “I know Meredith will not be happy if the Grand Cleric meddles, but…”

 

“Of course, Serah,” Bran answered. “I will see to it immediately.”

 

 

Fenris waited until Bran was out of earshot before throwing Hawke a questioning glance.

 

“At least now we know where it is,” Hawke muttered.

 

“I am not sure knowing it is in Meredith’s hands will help me sleep easier at night,” Fenris growled.

 

“Our first suspicion was right, though. The mage underground _is_ involved in the theft.” Hawke sighed and shook his head. “Anders won’t like that.”

 

“It was to be expected, after he turned his back on them. I’m more worried about how they knew about the mixture.”

 

“They probably found it by chance. Anders has been fighting for them and their rights ever since coming to Kirkwall. Clearly, they expected him to have access to forbidden literature or plans on how to make sure the mages are heard. He did tell Alain that, if Elthina isn’t willing to listen, more drastic measures may be necessary. Thrask knew of Anders’ involvement, too. Someone managed to break into his clinic, searched it for something they could use and ended up finding a pot with a mixture that he kept hidden under his bed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that obviously Anders planned to use it for something big. They have alchemists in the Circle. One of them takes a look at it, reveals what it is they found and a new plan is born.”

  
Fenris straightened his back and sheathed his sword. “We need to go, Hawke.”

 

 

~*~

 

Anders had his face buried in his hands by the time Hawke finished telling the group about Meredith’s ‘discovery’ and the fact that she was now in possession of the mage’s explosive. He had kept his voice low, seeing as the Hanged Man and its walls had too many ears.

 

Fenris had quirked an eyebrow at his lover when he found him hidden beneath a cloak. Zevran had grinned and explained that Templars frequented this place and it surely was in everyone’s best interest if they did not reveal Anders was indeed back in Kirkwall. Varric had ushered them upstairs to his rooms and closed the door firmly, offering the mage enough safety to take the cloak off.

 

“This is terrible,” Anders muttered.

 

“But the explosive is in safe hands now,” Mael concluded. “I know the thought of Templars having it in their possession gives you a headache but all things considered, it is safer with them than in the hands of mages or dwarves.”

 

“Hey now!” Varric called out, but he was grinning.

 

“I suppose,” Anders agreed reluctantly. “I just can’t believe they have been so stupid…”

 

“You call them stupid?” Fenris asked with a snort. “Then what would you call _your_ original plans with it?”

 

“Shut up,” the mage replied without conviction. “I know.”

 

“Well, how about we depress Blondie some more?” Varric suggested. “The Warden Commander and I have further information concerning our lovely Carta buddies and their connection to the Warden prison in the Vimmarks.”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

Fenris chuckled and reached out to touch a hand to the back of Anders’ neck, a gesture he hoped gave the blond some comfort.

 

“Mael managed to capture one of them,” Varric said, gesturing at the Warden Commander. “Together with a few friends of mine, we managed to make that bastard talk.”

 

“And what did he say?” Hawke asked.

  
“Most of the time, he deliriously spoke of someone he refers to as ‘master’ and his master’s demand for your blood,” Mael spoke up.

 

“His _blood_?” Fenris frowned.

  
“Master?”

 

“The dwarves we encountered at Hawke’s estate as well as the fellow I caught were all corrupted by the Darkspawn taint. It would explain their unusual behavior. Just like the Darkspawn themselves, they were drawn toward the prison. The dwarf we caught kept insisting they had been called for. Summoned.”

 

Anders frowned when he remembered the whispers he’d heard the other night.

 

“Is that what we heard?” he asked Mael.

 

“Possibly. Since we are corrupted by the taint as well, whatever called out for them would reach us, too.”

 

“Heard what?” Hawke asked, concerned.

 

“The morning after Fenris left to accompany you to the Keep, I fell asleep. I kept hearing whispers and a voice telling me I am called upon. I would have put that off as yet another nightmare but Mael and Nathaniel heard it, too.”

 

“It was not unlike the call of the Archdemon itself,” Mael added.

  
“Why did I not know about this?” Zevran asked.

 

“Archdemon?” Varric’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Not unlike, but not the same. I know what the call of the Archdemon is like.” Mael made a face. “Anders can consider himself lucky he was conscripted after the Fifth Blight.”

 

“Thank the Maker for that,” Anders grunted out sarcastically.

 

“You chose to be conscripted when the chance was offered,” Fenris pointed out, “unless there’s something you haven’t told me.”

 

“I did,” the blond agreed. “I’ll shut up now.”

 

“Well, that would be a first,” Mael remarked dryly. “Anyway…we could not determine the source of that call but it’s likely it came from the Warden prison.”

 

“Our tainted friend had a map on him.” Varric held it up and unfolded it for the rest of the group. “It shows the Vimmark Wastelands.” He put a finger to one location that had been marked. “This seems to be their hideout and it is directly connected to the Warden Prison.”

  
“We’re talking Deep Roads again, aren’t we?” Anders groused.

 

Mael chuckled at that. “Still don’t like them?”

  
“Serious question?”

 

“Wardens usually don’t seem to mind them too much,” Hawke pointed out.

 

“Oh, he does. When we first went into the Deep Roads beneath Vigil’s Keep, he was moaning and bitching all day,” Mael said. “’It’s way too dark here’, ‘I’m claustrophobic’, ‘it smells’…”

 

Anders blushed.

 

“You didn’t a say single word when you tagged along for the Deep Roads expedition.” Hawke smiled at the mage.

 

“Well – I guess I grew up or something. Now stop embarrassing me in front of my lover.”

 

Fenris snorted. “I find this rather entertaining.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“So, a bunch of Carta dwarves pile up near the Warden prison and it is most likely they all suffer from Blight sickness, yes?” Zevran spoke up. “You have mentioned before that Hawke’s father had been summoned by the Wardens in charge of the prison and used blood magic to lock something powerful away for good.”

 

“Yes,” Mael confirmed. “And things have been quiet until a few weeks ago, which brings me to the conclusion that whatever it is they locked away in there is starting to rouse.”

 

Anders thought for a moment. “If it was the blood of Hawke’s father that sealed this being’s prison, all those years back, his bloodline is probably the only thing able to break the seal. It would explain why corrupted Carta dwarves keep trying to get a hold on Garrett. Whatever it is, it can’t break the seal completely.”

 

“Maledictus magicae sanguinem,” Fenris cursed under his breath.

 

“Yeah, not too fond of it, either,” Anders agreed. “Because if I’m right, it means the only thing that can renew the weakened seal is…Garrett’s blood.”

 

“How much blood are we talking about exactly?” Hawke joked weakly. “Like, do I need to be bled out completely or is there a chance I survive?”

 

“Your father survived, obviously, or you wouldn’t be sitting here,” Varric remarked dryly.

 

Anders eyed Hawke with concern before letting his gaze travel to Mael’s face.

 

“You plan to go there and take Hawke with you, don’t you?” he asked his Commander.

 

“He’s the last of his bloodline, thus far,” Mael pointed out. “If you are indeed correct in your assumptions, something terrible will free itself the day Hawke dies and the seal breaks.”

 

“So put some of his blood into a vial and take it with you,” Fenris snarled. “Taking him with you raises the risk of him getting killed before you get anywhere near that seal.”

 

Mael pursed his lips and Anders sighed. “You don’t know how much you need, right?”

 

“Correct.”

 

“Just for the record – I am _not_ a mage. Least of all a blood mage. I can’t do what my father did, whatever it was he did,” Hawke stated.

 

“It wouldn’t matter. If I am correct, all we need is your blood and a mage that knows what to do with it.”

 

“Exactly,” Mael said.

  
“Which is why you need me.” Anders sighed. “If it doesn’t work out, at least I can make sure Hawke survives.”

 

“Just how bad do you think it is?” Hawke asked. He seemed thoughtful. “Too strong to be defeated once it breaks free?”

 

“If it were easily defeated, the Wardens would have had no reason to imprison it in the first place,” Mael said. “They would have killed it. Obviously, they could not. If something is strong enough to call on corrupted beings like an Archdemon does, then yes. That is not to say we won’t try to eliminate it, if only to make sure it won’t happen again in a few odd years from now.”

 

“Are we _sure_ it’s not an Archdemon?” Anders asked.

  
“It was imprisoned before the Fifth Blight. Strangely enough, the Darkspawn seems to follow a certain protocol when it comes to finding an Old God and corrupt it. It is unlikely that we’ll face the next Archdemon. But if we do, at least two Grey Wardens will be there to slay it before it rises completely.”

 

“Which could mean death for either of you,” Varric murmured, glancing at Mael. “Well, maybe not _you_ because for reasons unknown, you survived slaying the last one. But Anders?”

 

“Anders isn’t going anywhere. Neither is Hawke,” Fenris growled out. “Take as much blood as you see fit but I will not see either of them endangered.”

 

“I promised, Fenris.”

 

Fenris stared at the mage. “Pardon?”

 

“I promised my assistance in finding out what’s going on at the prison,” Anders explained. “Mael had every reason to have me executed, for deserting the Wardens alone, but he chose not to. I owe him for that.”

 

Hawke sighed. “And so do I.”

 

“Garrett –“

 

“No, Anders, I’m serious. Besides, whatever is going on is partially on my father’s head as well. I loved my father dearly, even if I am not happy with the idea of him performing blood magic rituals. I’ll feel better with you by my side.”

 

“We’re leaving in the morning,” Mael informed.

 

“Then we shall get prepared,” Fenris agreed and stood. “And get as much rest as possible.”

 

“You’re not coming with us,” Anders stated with a firm voice. “What might expect us there is not to be compared with the Deep Roads and the bit of Darkspawn crawling around there, Fenris. The Carta was corrupted by the taint. I can heal a lot of things but not Blight sickness.”

 

Fenris’ entire body tensed.

 

“I’ll have enough to worry about keeping Hawke away from it.”

 

“You can’t possibly be serious, mage,” Fenris snarled.

 

“I don’t want you there.”

 

Green eyes widened in disbelief. “Anders…”

 

“This is something I have to do to pay off my debt. Hawke will need someone here to keep an eye on the city and especially Meredith, while we are gone.”

 

“I assume that means I am not coming either?” Varric asked sourly.

 

“I’d feel better if you kept an eye on Bran, who will no doubt replace me during my absence,” Hawke confirmed. “Everyone in Kirkwall and the Free Marches knows you. If Sebastian were here…”

 

“And Fenris will ensure no one tries to stage a coup against Hawke by keeping an eye on Bran _and_ you.”

 

Varric looked doubtful when he glanced at the Tevinter elf, who was shaking with barely contained anger.

 

“Iterum me egrediens. Non teneatis promissione tua!” Fenris spat at Anders before rushing out of Varric’s room.

  
“Fenris, wait!” Anders called after him but found himself ignored.

 

“That went well,” Varric muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Maledictus magicae sanguinem – Cursed be blood magic  
> Iterum me egrediens – (You are) Leaving me again  
> Non teneatis promissione tua – You do not keep your promise/ You’re not keeping your promise.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is most definitely not work-safe!  
> Alas, we are catching a break before stumbling right into the final chapters of 'Suscitatio'. You want want to pack snacks, a bedroll, ice cubes/a fan.

The bottle barely missed, shattering against the wall behind him. Anders kept perfectly still, his eyes watching the raging elf storm through his old bedroom, cursing in Tevene and what suspiciously sounded like Qunlat, green eyes spitting fire at the mage.

  
“Fenris…” Anders tried.

 

“Get out!” Fenris yelled, pointing at the door.

 

“What in the Void is wrong with you?” There went Anders’ attempt to remain calm, his voice raising as well. He had sworn to himself to remain calm, as he followed the angry elf across Kirkwall, back to their now shared mansion. He knew Fenris would only get even more angry if he was yelled at in return, but the helplessness he experienced in the face of Fenris’ rage made him forget about that quickly.

 

“What is wrong with _you_?” the elf spat. “You expect me to remain quiet while you plan to go on a mission that might end with your death?”

 

“Whoever said anything about dying? We will go there, solve the problem and come back home, as we have many times before!”

 

“You are not going.”

 

“You are in no position to decide that, Fenris,” Anders replied, finally feeling himself calm again, now that Fenris’ yelling had subsided to angry growling. “I owe Mael for more than just deserting the Grey Wardens. Considering what he asks for in return, it is a small price to pay and I will not deny him.”

 

“Then you won’t go without me.”

 

“I told you, you are not coming.”

 

Something flashed in the elf’s green eyes and Anders found something else flying past his head, again barely missing him. Fenris had moved too quickly for Anders to see what it was.

 

“You will not do this to me!” Fenris was back to yelling. “I will not _allow_ you to do this to me. Not again, Anders. I will not be left behind or put aside like I’m nothing more than a blighted pair of socks that can be easily replaced.”

 

Fenris faltered when Anders’ face revealed his surprise and confusion at the choice of words.

 

“What are you talking about?” Anders asked gently.

 

Shame overcame him, chasing away the anger and Fenris exhaled shakily.

 

“Nothing,” Fenris forced out. “Forget I said that.”

 

“Are you really that angry because I do not want you to come with me? Angry I am too worried to take you with me, to a place where the Blight sickness seems to spread so rapidly that even _dwarves_ ended up infected and are now manipulated by something we don’t know anything about?” Anders dared to take a few steps toward the elf. “Maker’s breath, Fenris, I am not leaving you behind. I will come back.”

 

“I’ve heard that lie before.”

 

“From _whom_?”

 

Fenris shook his head and trotted over to his old bed, slumping heavily on it. He leaned forward, letting his head hang low and stared at his feet. “I do not wish to talk about it,” he murmured.

 

Silence stretched between them. It was so quiet, Fenris could hear his own blood pounding in his ears. He could feel Anders’ eyes on him but refused to meet the blond’s gaze.

 

A choked sound escaped Anders’ throat and Fenris could hear the pure _disgust_ in it. “Maker have mercy…” the mage whispered and the elf knew he did not have to explain anymore.

 

“Don’t,” Fenris pleaded. “ _Please_ , Anders.”

 

“Sweet Andraste, Fenris, you…”

 

“ _Don’t_.”

 

Anders fell silent again. Fenris felt the tears come up and swallowed hard, fighting them. The shame made him feel nauseous and for a moment, he worried he was going to be sick.

 

_You weren’t always this way, Fenris. Once upon a time, you had affection for me. I remember it fondly_.

 

Fenris choked as he remembered those last words from Danarius, bile rising in his throat.

 

Anders knelt down in front of him and Fenris felt the comforting touch of his hand against his cheek.

  
“I am not leaving you behind,” Anders whispered. “I will come back, Fenris. I’ll be back before you realize I ever left in the first place. But please, trust me when I say that this place is too dangerous. I do not want to see you corrupted by the taint. I don’t want to hold your hand and watch as it slowly kills you. You _know_ what happened to Carver in the Deep Roads. I can’t save you from the Blight sickness and I will not let you attempt to go through the Joining just to give you a few more years, should you survive it.”

 

Slowly, Fenris looked up, meeting Anders’ eyes with his.

 

“Do not compare me to that _bastard_ , Fenris. Never again,” Anders told him firmly.

 

Fenris swallowed against the lump in his throat. “How long will you be gone?”

 

“A couple days at the most. You know I don’t stay in the Deep Roads for longer than necessary, love.” Anders attempted a smile. “And when I come back, I won’t leave our bed for an entire week and will let you do whatever you want to me. How’s that?”

 

Fenris gave a humorless chuckle. “You think I am concerned about _that_?” he asked.

 

“No.” Anders leaned in, shyly bringing his mouth to the elf’s. Fenris’ lips remained unmoving at first but then, slowly, answered the chaste kiss. “I love you,” Anders murmured.

 

Fenris growled and grabbed Anders by the collar, forcefully pulling him onto the small bed. Anders complied easily, even though he usually wasn’t fond of being handled that way and Fenris was well aware of that. When the mage put up no resistance once he lay stretched out on the bed, Fenris began to impatiently pull and tear on the blond’s clothing. One hand ripped down the shirt, revealing the mage’s left shoulder. Anders became wary for a moment, fear crossing his features and Fenris stilled, cupping Anders’ face.

 

“Noli timere,” Fenris murmured. “Non nocebit.”

 

Anders smiled in response. “I know.” He grabbed Fenris by the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss and the elf felt himself calm at the contact, the urgency from a moment before gone. “Aut non nocebit,” the mage told him between kisses. “Blighted idiot.”

 

“Festis bei umo canavarum.” Fenris snarled and gripped Anders’ left arm before pressing his mouth to the naked shoulder, biting down hard. He felt skin tear and break beneath his teeth and Anders keened the moment the elf tasted blood. Sweet and coppery, hot against his tongue. The mage began to struggle beneath him and Fenris pulled away.

 

Anders glanced at his shoulder, eyes wide.

  
“You will be back before this has faded completely,” Fenris told him.

 

“You crazy fool…” Anders breathed. “What did you _do_? My blood is _tainted_ , Fenris!”

 

“I came into contact with it before and have not fallen ill,” the elf reminded.

 

“No, no, _no_!” Anders pulled Fenris back down, crushing their mouths together. Fenris groaned when the mage’s tongue invaded the hot caverns of his mouth, the heat of their kiss briefly disturbed by something sharp and cool, eliminating the taste of the blond’s blood.

 

“Never do that again,” Anders hissed, his own hands making short work of the elf’s shirt. “Stupid, self-destructive –“

 

Fenris lifted his body off Anders’ long enough to grab the mage and spin him around. Anders groaned into the pillow that muffled the continued litany of angry words born from concern. His breath hitched in his throat when Fenris pulled down his pants just enough to free his ass. One of Anders’ hands grabbed the pillow beneath his head, fisting the fabric as he braced himself.

 

The elf entered him, hard enough to make Anders shout before pushing back against him. Strong hands grabbed his hips and stilled the mage. Anders felt Fenris pant harshly against the back of his neck, burying his face into the fabrics of the ruined shirt. “Anders?”

 

“Fuck me!” Anders snapped.

 

With a growl, Fenris pulled back before reaming into him and Anders’ body welcomed the harsh treatment. The mage moaned brokenly as the elf continued to fuck into him, hard enough that Anders was sure he was going to tear something inside him but past the point of caring. _This is how we used to_ be, he thought, while a firework of sensations exploded inside of him, making his own cock strain against its confinement, still partially trapped inside his pants.

 

Fenris paused for a moment, pulling Anders tightly against him, raising his hips a little more in the process. With a moan, Anders reached back and found the elf’s hips, needing something to hold on to.

 

The next sharp, yet well-aimed thrust inside had Anders keen and shudder as he came almost violently, back arching under the force of his orgasm. Again, Fenris stopped moving his hips and let Anders get through the aftershocks without stimulating him further. The mage felt the elf’s hand tease over his back before gently pushing the shirt up to press small kisses along his spine.

 

Anders let a half-sob escape into the pillow, his body relaxing. Fenris continued to busy himself with the mage’s back, lavishing it with kisses and licks, tasting salt, sweat and _Anders_ and Fenris smiled to himself when he noticed Hawke had been right; the mage indeed smelled and tasted like spring rain. His hips began to move again, slow, gentle and Anders quivered around and beneath him.

 

“Do what you must do,” Fenris whispered into Anders’ skin. “Repay your debt. Then return to me, mage.”

 

Anders moaned softly in response.

  
“Do not stray,” the elf continued. “Finish it and come back home. Do not linger, do not get distracted, do _not_ pause until you’re back in my arms.”

 

“I won’t,” Anders murmured. “I promise.”

 

A strong arm wrapped around his middle and pulled him up until his back came to rest against Fenris’ chest. Anders let his head fall back, rolling his hips as Fenris thrust up gently and they immediately found their rhythm. The elf’s mouth found his neck, the arm around his middle moving up a fraction and holding him in place. The muscles of the mage’s thighs strained with the effort of lifting and rolling his hips to match Fenris’ thrust, the elf slick with pre-come inside him, easing the way now, after the rough beginning.

 

“Touch yourself,” Fenris whispered and Anders moved his free hand to his pants, unlacing them further. He exhaled shakily when his fingers touched hot, firm flesh, the infamous Warden stamina once again not disappointing. The mage timed the firm strokes on his cock with their thrusts, not faltering when Fenris picked up pace. He could feel Fenris strain his neck so he could watch him, pressing a tender kiss to his shoulder.

 

The familiar tingle at the end of his spine set in the moment he felt Fenris pulse inside him and Anders thrust back hard against the elf. Fenris growled against his neck, nails digging almost painfully into the soft flesh of his hips as the thrust up hard, once, twice and Anders came apart for the second time, tightening around the elf. He hummed approvingly when he felt Fenris come inside him, hot and wet, felt the elf shake, heard him gasp and moan against the back of his neck.

 

For a moment, they stayed still, just enjoying the feel of closeness and the connection of their bodies. Sweat caused the bite mark on his shoulder to burn and Anders looked at it through half-lidded eyes. It had bled a little more before blood clotting had set in and he couldn’t help but smile at the almost perfect imprint of elf teeth.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Fenris asked quietly once he had regained his breath.

 

Anders chuckled lazily. “Not really and only in the best way possible. I’m alright.”

 

“Hmm.” More kisses against his neck and Anders felt like melting.

 

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” he murmured.

 

“So you say and you better not be lying, mage.”

 

With a smile, Anders rolled his hips once again and Fenris groaned.

 

“Better make sure I’m properly sated until I’m back home.”

 

 

~*~

 

Anders checked his bag one last time. He could hear Mael and Garrett talk in front of the door, where they waited for him to finish packing and say goodbye to Fenris before they would take off for the Vimmarks.

 

“You look almost respectable,” Fenris teased gently.

 

Anders paused and glanced down at himself. He hadn’t thought he’d ever find himself wearing a Grey Warden armor again but Mael had handed it to him upon his arrival, saying it would keep him better protected than his worn clothing or a robe. The gryphon on the breast plate greeted him proudly and for a brief moment, the mage felt nostalgic.

 

“I prefer my feather pauldron,” Anders murmured, smiling at the tired-looking elf. They hadn’t gotten much sleep last night and he was aching pleasantly in various places. Instead of healing the soreness, Anders had decided to cherish it, wear it like another armor and revel in the sweet memories of a moment of unbridled passion.

 

He had not touched the bite mark on his shoulder. Fenris had made him promise not to heal it with magic, but let it heal the natural way.

 

And to be back before it had faded completely.

 

“I shall join Varric at the Keep, as soon as you’ve left my sight,” Fenris said. “I do not wish for Hawke to worry what might happen during his absence. Varric will speak to Elthina in Hawke’s place, on behalf of the mages and Templars found guilty.”

 

“Maker, I hope I won’t return finding their heads spiked and put on display at the Gallows.” Anders shuddered at the image. “I couldn’t live with that.”

 

“It is not your fault.”

 

“I created that powder, Fenris and they felt desperate enough to retrieve it from my clinic and plan something as equally stupid as I had. It is my fault, at least partially.”

 

Anders stepped up to the elf and pulled him close for a kiss. “I do not want to find _you_ locked up in the Gallows either when I come back.”

 

“It takes more than a dozen Templars to defeat me.” Fenris smirked. “Do not concern yourself with me. Watch out for yourself and don’t play the hero, mi amatus. If you are not back within a week, I will come to that Warden prison and retrieve you myself.”

 

“Point taken.” Anders kissed him again, a kiss full of promises before he forced himself to part with his elf and sighed. “See you in a few days?”

 

“See you in a  few days,” Fenris confirmed with a nod and a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Noli timere – Don’t be afraid  
> Non nocebit – I will not hurt you  
> Aut non nocebit – I will not hurt you either.  
> Festis bei umo canavarum – You will be the death of me


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're entering the final stage!
> 
> Mael, Zevran, Hawke and Anders are off to investigate the Warden prison...
> 
> I have bent canon repeatedly to make it fit. Apologies in advance *ahem*

It had taken them half a day to reach the Vimmark Wasteland. No matter which direction they looked now, all they saw was sand and stone, the land so incredibly dry. Just glancing around made Hawke thirsty. There were no shady spots and the sun had been merciless with them. His cheeks were a nice shade of red by now and Hawke knew he was going to have a sunburn.

 

The two elves seemed to have no problem with the weather. Mael had been stubbornly marching on and he wasn’t even sweaty yet. Zevran had a natural tan and was not at risk to get a sunburn. Anders wasn’t sweating too much either but kept complaining he’d have even more freckles by the time they went back home.

 

Hawke glanced at the mage and smiled.

  
“What?” Anders asked. “You have been doing this all day long, Hawke, looking at me and smiling or grinning. _What_?”

 

“It’s just so strange to see you wearing an armor.” Hawke admitted. It did suit the mage but Hawke had only ever known him in pants, shirts and pauldrons or coats, for as long as they had known each other.

 

“I enjoy seeing him wear it,” Mael said. He had barely said a word during the hike, while Zevran had been chatting animatedly, with the odd comment or reply from Anders. A while back, Anders and Zevran had talked about Vigil’s Keep and the Wardens that had been conscripted at the same time as the mage. It was interesting to hear about Anders’ life before coming to Kirkwall and now and then, Hawke even believed to hear melancholy in the mage’s voice.

 

“Ah, I enjoy not seeing him wear anything at all, yes?” Zevran teased as he looked around.

 

“Zevran,” Anders growled.

 

“Really? Can’t say I ever had the pleasure,” Hawke quipped. “What’s it like?”

 

“Don’t encourage him, Garrett.”

 

“All lean, deliciously pale, freckled skin and one of the cutest asses I have ever seen, my friend.”

 

Anders huffed and rolled his eyes. “Are we there yet?” he tried to change the subject.

 

“It would seem this is supposed to be the hideout that was marked on the map,” Mael said as he studied said map.

 

Anders craned his neck as he looked around. “I do see broken chests and something that once seemed to be a cart. But otherwise, this place looks abandoned.”

 

“Maybe it’s underground?” Hawke suggested.

  
“Only one way to find out!” Zevran winked at the other three before he stealthed and snuck off. Hawke could see whirls of sand where the almost invisible assassin slid down the dune.

 

“Should we follow him?”

 

“Zevran knows what he’s doing,” Mael said. “We’ll wait for his signal.”

 

Hawke nodded and looked around some more while they waited for Zevran. There really was nothing out there. He was surprised how versatile the Vimmarks were. The Dalish Camp on Sundermount was surrounded by lush green, seemingly impervious woodlands and usually experienced damp weather. The Wastelands were dry and dead. Not even scavengers seemed to inhabit this desert-like area.

 

In fact, it was dead silent around them.

 

His gaze returned to Anders, who was staring ahead, trying to find Zevran on the field. He had changed a lot, Hawke noticed. In the past, whenever the lot of them were out on a job, Anders had seemed distant, lost in thoughts whenever he wasn’t actively involved in any of the conversations going on. Like he wasn’t really with them. Same when they met for Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man. When called upon it, Anders would smile and claim he was simply tired or talking to Justice.

 

Varric once mentioned to Hawke that Anders managed to be lonely, even if he was in a room filled to the brink with people or his friends.

 

Not anymore. Amber eyes were attentive as they took in the surroundings, head up instead of hanging low. Hawke wondered if this was the man Anders had been before joining with the Fade spirit. Partially, for sure – but also more mature now. And happier, Hawke figured, if the smiling and laughter Anders displayed frequently these days were anything to go by and the reason for that.

 

A smile slowly spread on Garrett’s lips.

 

Anders glanced at his friend. “What now?” he asked with a smile of his own. “Did you just notice how well the armor goes with my teint or the color of my eyes?”

 

Hawke laughed at that. “No. I just realized it’s a really good look on you.”

  
“The armor?”

 

“No. Being in love.”

 

Amber eyes blinked at him in surprise, then slowly shook his head. “Garrett, I think we need to get you out of the sun.”

 

Hawke huffed, but as he kept his eyes on the mage, he could see it: the slowly spreading, happy smile that usually only a certain someone managed to bring to his face.

 

Mael chuckled. “I take it Fenris wasn’t too angry anymore this morning?”

 

Anders snorted, the smile widening. “No.”

 

“You may join me down here if you wish,” Zevran suddenly spoke up.

  
“Found anything?” Mael asked.

  
“A few corpses buried in the sand. Difficult to see from up there. Otherwise, nothing unusual and I will admit that concerns me a little, yes?”

 

Anders hummed in agreement. “You’d think, for someone so desperately after Hawke’s blood, they’d throw us a welcome party. I sincerely doubt all of them were killed in Kirkwall.”

 

“Keep your eyes open,” Mael said. “Let’s go.”

 

 

The sand crunched beneath their heavy boots as they carefully made their way down the dune to join Zevran near a pile of broken crates. The Antivan was searching them carefully but couldn’t find anything of worth or importance.

 

Hawke grimaced when he noticed white bones peeking out from under the sand. Parts of a rather large ribcage. “Why would anyone want to come here?” he wondered aloud.

 

“Whoever owned this cart –“ Mael glanced at the bones as well. “— and the horse might have simply gotten lost and hoped to leave the Wasteland behind before it kills them.”

 

“Or it was someone who supplied the Carta,” Anders suggested. “Lured here with the promise of a decent pay.”

 

“It’s so quiet here,” Hawke murmured.

 

“Not unusual,” Mael said. “I noticed the lack of desert animals and scavengers, too. Animals try to stay away from tainted land, else they end up tainted as well.”

 

“Crows are especially good at that. They flee at the first hint of the taint,” Anders agreed.

 

“Maybe we should follow their example?” Hawke joked weakly.

  
“I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” Anders smiled at Hawke. Within a second, that smile froze.

  
“Anders…” Mael’s voice carried a warning tone.

  
“I feel it,” the mage confirmed.

  
“Feel what?” Hawke asked and Zevran grinned at him.

 

“Tainted beings, my friends. They cannot only sense Darkspawn, they can sense anyone whose taint has progressed to a certain level.”

 

Hawke was given no chance to react or reply before they found themselves ambushed by corrupted Carta thugs and snipers emerging from seemingly every corner around them. They were poorly armed, he thought. He knew the Carta was usually better than that but the taint must have clouded their judgment. With two warriors, one assassin and a mage who certainly knew how to aim fireballs, they made quick work of them.

 

“After him!” Mael shouted, pointing his sword at the disappearing figure of another dwarf that fled deeper into the place. The Warden Commander darted off, Zevran right at his heels. Still suffering from the incredible heat, Hawke took a moment to gather his breath before he followed them. Anders was a few steps ahead of him, but constantly glancing back across his shoulder to make sure Hawke was still following them. Hawke chuckled to himself as the thought about how it was usually the other way round, with Hawke in the lead and always making sure his friends were still following.

 

There was no surprise when they found themselves ambushed again, as soon as they had passed the broken wooden gate that the escapee dwarf had disappeared behind. What did surprise Hawke, though, was the bronto running right at him and he only barely managed to jump out of the way before he ended up speared on its horns. The bronto froze just as it turned around to chase after him and Hawke threw Anders a grin for casting the paralysis glyph before he charged at the beast and cut its throat.

 

When he turned around again, Zevran was just busy wiping his daggers on one lifeless Carta thug on the ground, smirking. “If it continues like this, we’ll be done here in no time, yes?” he purred.

 

“I doubt it’ll stay this easy,” Mael murmured as he searched the thug at his feet. Eventually, he pulled out a rusty key and glanced around. The only loked door he could find was a gate north of them. “Well, let’s try that.”

 

The gate opened, groaning and creaking, as Mael and Hawke used their combined strength to open it. Anders peeked across Mael’s shoulder and blinked when the gate revealed what looked like a deserted fortress. There was a camp fire crackling, surrounded by various abandoned buildings – stables, something that looked like it was once a smithy, an old inn with faded letters on the sign swinging gently in a sudden, yet short-lived breeze. Too many places for Carta thugs to hide in. Anders could feel them still, the sickening pull in his veins that he always experienced near tainted creatures. Near other Grey Wardens, it wasn’t quite as bad, more like a tingling sensation.

 

A roar made the ground vibrate beneath their boots and with a loud crash, another bronto emerged from the abandoned stables and charged at them.

 

“Oh, not again,” Hawke complained loudly.

 

Anders whirled his staff and cast a fireball at the beast. It howled in pain and lost direction, galloping past them. With a curse, Anders swiveled around and let Winter’s Breath follow the fireball, freezing the creature momentarily. The feeling of victory was short-lived, though, when another bronto appeared, this time accompanied by Carta thugs, one of them crying “The master wants the Hawke’s blood!”

 

Something told the mage this was going to be a very long few days or, at the very least, a very long next few hours.

 

 

By the time they had fought their way through the Chasm, the _actual_ Carta hideout and defeated a strange guy named Rhatigan, a path of corpses was left behind from the Wasteland to the room they vacated. While trying to catch their breaths, Hawke studied something Rhatigan had carried around. It looked like a combination of a very sharp sword and – something else. Almost like a key although there possibly couldn’t be a lock big enough for it to fit into. ‘The Hawke’s Key’ was what Rhatigan had called it before Mael severed the dwarf’s head from his shoulders. That and Rhatigan had supplied a name – Corypheus.

 

“Is everyone alright?” Mael asked.

 

“Finally cooling off,” Hawke announced. “Man, I’ve been dying for a cool place.”

 

Anders chuckled and shot Hawke a sympathetic look. “I would have offered to freeze you for a moment if I hadn’t been worried I’d kill you in the process.”

 

“So thoughtful,” Hawke teased. “What do you think this thing is for?” He held up the ‘Key’. “It’s weird-looking for a sword.”

 

“Well, Rhatigan did call it a key,” Mael pointed out. “The shape of the sword sure reminds of one.”

 

Hawke hummed thoughtfully as he inspected the sharp blade. “It’s very fine work,” he said. “Very hard steel.”

 

“Better than your current sword?” Anders asked. “If yes, use it. Obviously, it is of importance. Who knows what it’ll help.”

 

Hawke nodded and slowly got to his feet with a grunt. “Maker, I can’t wait to get home and have a nice bath.”

 

“Anyone need healing?” Anders asked.

 

“Not for the few scratches I obtained,” Mael said with a smirk.

 

Hawke paused for a moment. Anders rolled his eyes and cast a quick healing spell on his friend, smirking when he heard the sigh of relief.

 

“Zevran?” Anders called out.

  
“Over here, beautiful!” Zevran replied. Hawke, Mael and Anders followed the direction of the Antivan’s voice and eventually found him at the end of a narrow corridor that lead to stone stairs. Cool air waved up at them and Hawke actually shivered at the sensation.

 

“Where does this lead, I wonder?” Anders asked. The stairs reached far enough that the end lay in complete darkness. The staircase itself seemed to have been hidden behind wooden planks until recently, the remains of which were piling up next to the passage.

 

“I assume this is the connection to the Warden Prison,” Mael said.

 

“In other words, Deep Roads.”

 

“Apologies.”

 

Anders sighed. “Let’s get going.”

 

 

~*~

 

Mael and Anders had gone quiet. Very quiet. Hawke wouldn’t have been too worried if Zevran hadn’t started to look concerned as well.

 

They had just managed to cut down a group of Hurlock and Genlock who had tried to surprise attack them as they were leaving the Deep Roads, but Mael and Anders sensed their presence before they had the chance to sneak up on them. Anders had stilled momentarily, a pained expression on his face and exchanged a look with the Warden Commander.

 

Other than a grunt and “Let’s keep moving”, nothing had come across the Warden Commander’s lips. He was walking side by side with Anders now, leading the way. Zevran kept close to Hawke, lips pursed, brows furrowed. Hawke glanced at a faded sign when they passed it, reading ‘Sashamiri’s Floor’ and frowned.

 

“Who’s Sashamiri?” he muttered to himself as he trotted through the ruins of what looked to have once been a rather impressive fortress.

 

“From what I read about the prison, Sashamiri was the one who originally imprisoned this Corypheus we are apparently looking for, some time after the First Blight,” Mael murmured. “The prison contains four floors, each named after a Grey Warden. There’s Sashamiri, Farele, who suggested capturing who- or whatever Corypheus is and Riannon who was supposed to make sure the seals are reinforced frequently.”

 

“And the fourth?” Hawke asked.

 

“It has no name.”

 

“And there’s nothing in the notes you read that can tell who or what Corypheus is?” Anders inquired.

 

“No, other than it being very powerful and connected to the Blights.”

 

Anders made a face. To Hawke, it looked like the blond was suffering from severe headaches.

 

“You two alright?” he asked.

 

“No talking,” Anders gritted out.

 

“If this is giving you troubles already, imagine what an Archdemon would do to you,” Mael murmured.

 

“What’s going on?” Zevran asked. “Do you hear what the Carta heard?”

 

“It’s a constant voice,” Anders explained, still grimacing. “Tugging at our consciousness and trying to enter our minds.”

 

Zevran’s brows furrowed further. “Do you need me to restrain you?”

 

Mael chuckled. “We won’t be of much help if you did that, Zev,” he told the Antivan. “We’ll be alright, once we manage to make sure it stays out of our heads.”

 

“Wish it would get _out_ of my head first,” Anders muttered, shaking his head like he was trying to get rid of cobwebs. “Maker be damned, what _is_ this?”

 

“Don’t let it in, Anders,” Mael told him. “I know it seems easier said than done right now, but if you give in, you’re lost and I really don’t want to have to kill you. Got it?”

 

“Crystal clear, Commander.” The mage’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. Mael glanced sharply at him, then across his shoulder to Hawke. “I’ll go ahead. Keep an eye on him.”

 

Hawke nodded and Mael sped up his steps. Zevran followed suit, letting Hawke and Anders fall behind a little, but remaining in sight. Anders was staggering slightly when Hawke caught up with him.

 

“I hate the Deep Roads,” the mage murmured.

  
“Maybe you shouldn’t have come.”

 

“I had to.”

 

Hawke sighed. “I’m kind of glad you told Fenris not to come with us. He would have thrown a fit by now and dragged you out of here.”

 

Anders chuckled and actually managed to throw Hawke an amused look through his grimace. “It’s difficult to understand if you’re not tainted,” he said. “It’s…right now, I feel like a puppet attached to strings that someone tries to pull and make me move in a different direction. And Maker, but the voices…” He shook his head. “Forget the allure of a Desire Demon. This is a hundred times worse.”

 

“Can you fight it?”

 

“I’m trying, Hawke. Really. And I will, probably, but unlike Mael, I have no experience with this kind of thing. I can sense Darkspawn but I never had to deal with something like this before, seeing as I was conscripted after the last Blight. I doubt anyone can prepare you for this kind of feeling.”

 

Hawke reached out and took Anders’ free hand into his, squeezing gently. Anders glanced down curiously, then up to his friend. “What’s that for? Holding hands in the Deep Roads, Garrett? Really?”

 

“I am hoping it will help you ground yourself,” Hawke replied with a grin. “Try concentrating on our joined hands?”

 

Anders snorted, but took a deep breath and did just that. It helped a little, he found and relaxed a fraction.

 

 

Hawke looked ahead to find Mael and Zevran had come to a halt, partly hiding behind fragments of what used to be a rather tall, sturdy column. Zevran seemed curious as he glanced ahead, head tilting. Mael was frowning.

  
“What’s wrong?” Anders asked quietly once they had caught up with them and Mael lifted a hand to gesture for them to be quiet.

 

Hawke glanced over the Commander’s shoulder.

 

A figure was crouching in the dirt, looking for something. Partly bald, the armor it worse having seen better days, for sure. Hawke squinted his eyes at the emblem on the badly scratched breast plate and was surprised to recognize the familiar gryphon.

  
“A Warden?” he murmured.

 

The figure raised its head, revealing a man – or what was left of him. Eyes glossed over, just like on the Carta thugs they had encountered earlier. Anders shivered a little next to Hawke. Infected by the taint.

 

“The key!” the man croaked and immediately came running toward them – he was limping, his body strangely contorted. Zevran reached for his daggers, ready to strike.

  
“Did they find it?” the stranger babbled on. “The dwarves?” He came to a halt in front of them. “I heard them…looking…digging…”

 

“Maker’s breath,” Anders whispered, shaking his head at the sight of the man.

 

Hawke decided to approach the situation carefully and held up the sword Rhatigan had dropped. “You mean this?” he asked. “How’s this a key?”

 

“Magic!” the man muttered. “Old magic it is. Magic from the blood. It made the seals. It can destroy them.”

 

“We came here to find someone named Corypheus,” Mael interrupted the deformed man in front of them. “Do you know where or what he is?”

 

“Is he a Grey Warden?” Hawke asked Anders quietly.

 

“He looks it,” the mage muttered. “Except…” He shook his head, the pained expression returning although Hawke could tell that this time, it had nothing to do with the voices Anders heard but the sight of the man in the Warden armor.

 

The stranger cowered slightly at Mael’s words. “Do not say his name,” he muttered. “He will hear you. Do _not_ wake him. Not when you hold the key.”

 

Mael lifted an eyebrow at him. “Let me guess…you want Hawke’s blood, too?”

 

Hawke made a face.

  
“Blood? The blood of the Hawke!” The unknown man scampered away from them a little, still limping badly. “Are you the Hawke?”

 

“No.” Mael pointed at Garrett. “He is, though.”

 

“Thanks,” Hawke grunted out. Zevran grinned.

 

Again, the man came closer, pushing past Mael, who let him. “I smell no magic on you,” the man croaked. “But you hold the key. The key to his death. Yes, I can show you out. Yes!”

 

“Out?” Anders asked with a frown.

 

“Who are you?” Hawke asked, taking a step back. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

“You ask me that,” the man said almost mockingly. “I am the one who belongs here, not you. You are no Darkspawn.”

 

“The armor,” Anders spoke up, pointing the bladed end of his staff at it. “It’s Grey Warden, isn’t it?”

  
“Wardens!” Again, the man was scampering. Mael looked like he was slowly losing his temper. “Yes! Guardians against the Blight. I know the way out! Follow me.” The man paused. “Down and in. Down and in,” he whispered.

 

“He’s clearly lost his mind, yes?” Zevran asked.

  
“He’s tainted,” Anders murmured. “Take a good look at him, Zev and always remember, one day, Mael and I will look exactly like him if we linger too long.”

 

Zevran made a face at the mage.

 

Mael straightened his back, a determined look on his face like he had just made a decision. “Show us then,” he told the stranger.

 

“The seals hold us in,” the man said. “Anything comes in, nothing ever leaves.”

  
“Great,” Anders commented humorlessly.

 

“Not without the key!”

 

“Oh, I suppose that’s good then.”

 

“You must use it, yes,” the man went on. “On the seals. Every seal you touch the key to it only then they open. Only from the Hawke. Not back. Not up. Only way out is down and through the heart.” He walked away from them, toward a door that seemed to lead to another area. “Down. In the depths,” he muttered.

 

“Maker’s breath, what is he on about?” Anders asked.

 

“We’ll follow him for now,” Mael said quietly. “He will lead us to this Corypheus.”

 

“I hope you are right, my dear Warden,” Zevran said as he sheathed his daggers. “I can sure think of more comfortable places to be right now.”

 

“You’re not the only one,” Anders let him know with a half-smirk. “Besides, I don’t fancy to have to look into my future’s face.”

 

“It may not come to that,” Mael said.

 

“No, I hope I die before my Calling comes and I completely miss it.”

 

The Warden Commander rolled his eyes.


	31. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Must go down. Must go deeper...
> 
>  
> 
> I read that Antivan is considered a mix of Spanish and Italian, or even Portugese. Too bad DA Wikia has not clearly decided on that. Since I learned Italian, I stuck to that one *lol*. Translation at the bottom.
> 
> ALSO: I neglected to put up a possible spoiler warning - I did not take into account that some of you may not have played this DLC yet. Small heads-up, though, while it does follow the DLC, a lot was changed and I did not include all details throughout the final chapters D: I apologize I didn't think of this before. 
> 
> ~*~

By the time they had broken the second seal, Hawke was ready to call it quits. Whatever the Grey Wardens had done here, whatever it was his _father_ had done here, Hawke would rather face the Arishok in single combat again than dealing with…well, _this_.

 

Their newfound companion turned out to be a Grey Warden indeed. Larius, he said his name was. _Ghoul_ was what Anders called him under his breath. Seeing Larius limp ahead made Anders uncomfortable. Knowing that _this_ was what awaited him in the future, if he didn’t follow his Calling and leave for the Deep Roads before turning into what Larius was now. Not quite human anymore, not quite Darkspawn, either. Mael made a face when Larius stated he had once been a Warden Commander, too, and Anders had thrown the elf a very pointed look at that.

 

“Poor wretch,” Anders had commented as they had marched on, down, deeper into the prison. “He must have come down here when he received his Calling.” Larius had immediately started talking about it, the _songs_ he’d heard, their noise increasing. When Larius eventually stated he was ‘dead, but never died’, Anders had to look away, a pained expression on his face again. Hawke remained by his side until the blond shook his head again, back to fighting the voices inside it and stubbornly walked on.

 

Larius began to chat with Hawke about the seals and the Hawke blood, revealing more about what it was Garrett’s father had once done. All this in between breaking seals and fighting Hurlock and Genlock alphas and Hawke felt himself tiring. When they reached the passage to the Tower basement, he leaned against the wall and took a deep breath while listening to Larius saying something about Corypheus calling for them in the dark.

 

“Hawke needs a break,” Anders let Mael know, who was just about to enter the passage. The Warden Commander glanced at him, then at Hawke.

  
“We need to keep –“

 

“We are taking a break, Commander,” Anders stated firmly. “I am here because I owe this to you, but _you_ are the one who wants something from Hawke and even though he agreed to endanger himself for this, I will not risk him being too exhausted to fight. We don’t know what lies ahead of us still.”

  
“Anders, it’s alright,” Hawke murmured. “I just need a moment.”

 

“Take two.”

 

Zevran grabbed Mael’s shoulder when the Warden Commander was about to start arguing and shook his head at him. “We’re all tired, amico mio,” he told him. “The mage is right, let us take a moment to catch our breath before we continue. By the look on your face, I can see we’re getting closer to the source of that voice.”

 

“Maker are we ever,” Anders muttered. “It’s getting harder to ignore with each passing second.”

 

“How much longer will you two be able to withstand it?” Hawke wondered aloud.

 

“That’s a very good question, yes?” Zevran agreed with a nod.

 

“Must go on. Must go deep!” Larius called.

 

“I wonder what exactly he expects us to do,” Anders said quietly. “Does he really want to help us? If he hears the Calling, it might be the same thing the Carta heard. Who says he’s not leading us to that Corypheus and making us help him free it?”

 

“No one,” Mael agreed in kind. “But he knows the way.”

 

“Oh and that makes him trustworthy?”

 

“He gives the impression that, despite the taint and hearing his Calling, or what sounds like it, he’s still somewhat clear in his mind.”

 

Anders looked positively doubtful.

 

“We should move on,” Hawke said with a grunt. “Anders, can you…or are you too exhausted?”

 

“Did you not listen to what Marethari told you about my _condition_?” Anders asked sourly and cast a rejuvenation spell at the warrior.

 

Hawke sighed in relief. “I did. That doesn’t mean I will assume you are _always_ fit to cast spells. Endless mana supply or not, if your body is exhausted, you shouldn’t be casting strong spells, either.”

 

Anders’ irritated expression gave way to an honest smile. “You good to go?” he asked, casting a quick, slightly annoyed look at Mael.

  
“Lead the way.”

 

 

Larius came limping as soon as they were ready to follow him. Hawke thought he actually looked concerned.

  
“He’s waking,” Larius let them know in a hushed whisper. “The magic grows lax.”

 

Hawke paused. “How could he be sending people after me if he’s _asleep_?”

 

“He can call. Dream. But not know.” Larius shrugged. “When the seals are gone, he will wake. And he must die.”

 

“I knew it,” Anders muttered. “He’s leading us into a Maker be damned _trap_!”

 

“Why are you down here?” Mael spoke up in that melodic voice of his. “How have you survived?”

 

“The Calling…the music…it is our death.”

 

“The Wardens say once corruption goes far enough,” Anders spoke up, “the Darkspawn can’t sense you anymore. They think he’s one of them. He’d be in no danger on that front.”

 

Mael hummed in agreement.

 

“Yes,” Larius agreed in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver down Hawke’s spine. “I lived…but I died. The corruption feeds me. So many years in darkness.”

 

“When you run off,” Hawke said, “where do you go?” Larius had often simply disappeared while they had made their way down there, usually whenever they were busy fighting their way past Darkspawn and remaining Carta thugs. It had irked him the entire time, the way Larius disappeared and then showed up again like he had never been gone in the first place.

 

“I know the darkness before the seals,” Larius offered as explanation while he turned on his heels and limped on. “Here, the voice is too strong. I cannot stay.” And off he went, ahead of their group, disappearing around a corner.

  
“There he goes again,” Zevran said, bemused. “If I wasn’t worried about you leaving my sight, I’d investigate where he does run off to.”

 

“I don’t like this,” Anders said.

  
“Neither do I,” Mael murmured. “But he still is our best lead.”

 

 

The further down Larius’ limping figure led them, the darker it became. Hawke could feel Anders tense up next to him; to be honest, he was starting to feel rather uneasy, too. The Deep Roads seemed like a fun walk compared to the ruins of this prison tower.

 

They descended a long stair-case and at the end found themselves in a surprisingly large room. The only thing between their side and the other side of the Tower Base was a rather long bridge, the end of which they could not see. The smell was foul and Hawke could hear something sneak around in the dark.

  
“He’s gone,” Mael suddenly spoke up and Hawke hastily looked around. Indeed, Larius had disappeared. _Again_.

 

“Would not recommend him as a guide if you ever plan to offer a tour through the prison tower,” Hawke quipped. Zevran laughed throatily at that and leered at the warrior.

 

“Ah, man after my own heart,” the Antivan flirted, winking at Hawke. “We share the same kind of humor, yes?”

 

“Do we now?” Hawke asked with a grin.

  
“You can ask him out for dinner later, Zevran,” Mael said, slightly irritated and chose a path leading away from the bridge.

 

A bad decision, Hawke thought only moments later, when a band of Deepstalkers suddenly jumped at them. What else would await them down here, he wondered, as he cut his way through them, distantly aware of Anders’ fireballs or the way Zevran kept his back free while Mael stubbornly marched on, slaying everything that got into his way with one strike.

 

“Maker be damned,” Anders shouted in annoyance as he took the final Deepstalker down with the bladed end of his staff, almost separating its head from its neck. “What’s next?”

 

“We have not encountered ogres yet,” Zevran suggested.

 

“The Guardians we had to battle at the seals were bad enough,” the mage groused.

 

“According to this Larius, there’s still one ahead, yes?”

 

“And I found it,” Mael called from the distance.

 

Hawke sighed in defeat as the three of them caught up to the Warden Commander.

 

Anders slowed his steps when the searing headache returned once again, along with the alluring voice he had heard first in that abandoned estate, in his dream. This time, the loudness of the voice caused the headache to get so bad, his vision swam and with a gasp, the mage stopped walking, hands clutching his head.

 

_You are called upon._

 

“Go away,” Anders hissed. “Leave me alone.”

 

There was an image in his mind’s eye, brief, but terrifying all the same. Blood. So much blood. Hawke’s lifeless eyes that looked at him accusingly.

 

 _Bring me his blood_.

 

“Leave me alone!” Anders staggered backwards a little, sickened by the images. He would never do that to his best friend. “Get out of my head, you foul creature.”

 

“Anders?”

 

 _Hawke. Go. Run away. Don’t stay here_.

 

“Anders.” Mael. “Don’t listen to it. _Stop_ listening.”

  
“I can’t,” Anders whimpered, his mind tortured further with images. “No..:”

 

“Anders, listen to me,” Hawke tried again. “Focus on my voice.”

  
“Stay away from me!”

 

Hawke froze when the tone of Anders’ voice changed, cold and steely, not too different from what he remembered Justice to sound like – except Justice’s voice had been completely different, this was still Anders’ voice, but so very, very different.

 

_Bring me Hawke’s blood. Free your master. You will be rewarded._

 

Anders felt the _tug_ deep in his core, slowly crawling through his bloodstream and toward his head. His ears rang and he felt his will weakening, begging to give into the voice, give the _master_ what he wanted just so this torture would stop.

 

 _No_.

 

He let the anger come, not even trying to fight it this time. Like fire in his veins, it fought the effects of the alluring voice.

 

“I will not be controlled!” Anders growled in that almost unearthly voice, cracks of blue splitting his skin. Something was rising, inside him, around him, feeding Vengeance’s need for power, for retaliation.

 

_What am I doing?_

 

“Anders!” Hawke yelled. He sounded furious now.

 

Anders’ mind went blank.

 

 

~*~

 

When he next came to, he was sore – so incredibly sore. His nose was bleeding and by the very apologetic look on Hawke’s face, Anders figured his friend had seen need to punch him.

 

“Fuck,” Anders moaned, carefully touching a hand to his nose. “Maker, what happened?”

 

Mael looked positively _pissed_.

 

“It would seem you obtained yet another interesting ability,” Hawke said, trying to keep his tone light.

 

Anders felt cold all of a sudden. “What did I do?”

 

“You summoned shades,” Mael let him know.

 

 _Maker_ …

 

Zevran knelt down next to Anders, regarding him curiously. “Despite our dear Warden being anything but amused, my pretty thing – how do you feel?”

 

“Did you kill them?” Anders asked.

 

“We did.”

 

He examined his bleeding nose and glanced at Hawke. “Did you punch me?”

 

“I wanted to knock you out before you summon worse things than a couple of shades,” Hawke explained. “I apologize.”

 

“Maker, please don’t. Thank you.” Slowly, Anders let his gaze travel to Mael. “I’m so, so sorry…I don’t know how…”

 

“Five minutes ago, I actually wished you had allowed Fenris to come with us, despite understanding your worries,” Mael muttered. “It seems he’s the only one the _demon_ listens to.”

 

Anders dropped his gaze, shame and guilt overtaking him.

 

“He didn’t choose this,” Hawke growled at Mael. “He didn’t _ask_ for this, Mael. Maleficar may enjoy being able to summon demons whenever they wish, but Anders –“

 

“—is not a maleficar. I know,” Mael finished for Hawke. “I apologize for my harsh words,” he said, directed at Anders. “This is my fault.”

 

Anders healed his nose, wincing slightly and blinked at the Warden Commander. “How is this your fault?”

 

“You were not prepared for this experience,” Mael said. “And I have not taken into consideration what this place might cause to you due to your…condition.”

 

“Stop talking about it like it’s a disease!” Anders demanded.

 

“Anders –“ Hawke carefully put his hands on the mage’s shoulder. “We know it’s not, but it’s obviously a dangerous…addition to have in such a situation.”

 

Anders flinched away and staggered to his feet. His head was…wonderfully quiet now. Anders frowned; he’d gotten so used to fighting that voice in his mind for the past few hours, the sudden quiet he experienced now was disconcerting to say the least. Maybe Vengeance…

 

He shook his head. “Did anything else happen while I was out?”

 

“Took care of the third seal,” Hawke said.

 

“Guardian played hide and seek with us, too,” Zevran said with a toothy grin.

 

The mage groaned and cast a healing spell on them all. “Where’s Larius?”

  
“Disappeared again. Not surprising,” Hawke said around a huff.

  
“We’re close,” Mael murmured. He looked a little dazed now and Anders could see the Warden Commander fight for control in his own mind. “Very close.”

  
“Mael?” Zevran inquired.

 

The elf shook his head, eyes focusing again. “Apologies. I got –“

 

“—lost?” Anders supplied sourly. Mael sighed and his look clearly said ‘point taken’.

 

 

“We must hurry!”

 

Anders jumped a little when Larius appeared once again, out of nowhere.

 

“They are here!” he said. He seemed nervous. “They are here!”

 

“The voices in your head?” Zevran asked sweetly.

 

“The Wardens! They want to bring him the light. Stop them. You must stop them!” the former Warden Commander demanded, distancing himself once again.

 

“I’m getting tired of this,” Hawke commented on Larius’ constant there and gone again behavior.

 

“What Wardens?” Anders asked, then fell silent when he heard voices coming closer.

 

“Something is happening,” a female voice said, “the prison’s breaking down.”

 

 

Anders, Hawke, Mael and Zevran watched with interest when a group of Grey Wardens neared; four, Mael counted, one of them female and wearing the sort of armor Grey Wardens had created specifically for mages.

 

“Know them?” Zevran asked.

 

“Never seen them before.”

 

 

The female Warden paused when she became aware of them; she paled when her gaze rested on Hawke for a moment. “You,” she said, pointing at him. Hawke quirked an eyebrow at her. “You have the key.” She approached further. Next to Hawke, Zevran secretly reached for one of his daggers.

 

“And you’ve come through the seals,” the female Warden acknowledged, coming to a halt in front of them, while her companions stayed back. “But how?” She gave Hawke a scrutinizing look before her features softened. “Champion?” she asked, almost gentle now. “Are you the one? The same Hawke, child of Malcolm? The Carta said they were close. You must be him.”

 

“A little too close,” Anders pointed out sharply. Her eyes met his and she looked surprised; then her gaze traveled over the group again, taking in the Grey Warden armor and Mael’s decidedly not amused expression.

 

“I am surprised to find Wardens here still,” Mael said. “Who are you?”

 

“I am Janeka,” the woman introduced herself. “I lead this unit of Grey Wardens.”

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of you before,” Mael replied, inclining his head. “Mael Tabris, Commander of the Grey Wardens.”

 

“Also known as the Hero of Ferelden,” Anders added.

 

“The one who slayed the Archdragon and survived…” Janeka almost gaped – _almost_ , because she schooled her expression quickly, much to Anders’ disappointment. “What brings you here, Commander of the Grey?”

 

“As you just said yourself, something is going on here,” Mael answered, “and whatever it is was brought to my attention. Things took an interesting turn when the Carta was suddenly ambushing a friend of mine while I was about to investigate. Two of my Wardens are dead, another two missing.” He crossed his arms and looked pointedly at her.

 

Janeka cast Hawke another look. “How much do you know about the history of this place? About Malcolm Hawke?”

 

“What I do know is that Malcolm Hawke surely wouldn’t have liked his son being ambushed by Carta thugs in his home, _twice_ ,” Anders snarled at her. “And from your choice of words, I gather that was your doing, Janeka.”

 

“Does that mean the Grey Wardens are after me and not the Carta?” Hawke gave a lopsided smile. “Guess that means I have been in rather bad company the entire time.”

 

Zevran snickered.

  
“Without Malcolm, this prison would have fallen thirty years ago,” Janeka said.

  
“Why?” Mael asked. “What is it exactly that Hawke’s father did? We know bits and pieces and we especially know about the blood magic.”

 

Janeka did at least look slightly guilty at that and sighed. “The Grey Wardens built this prison to contain one of the most powerful Darkspawn we’ve ever encountered. But even the best magic failed.”

 

“Oh, I’m gonna love this one,” Anders muttered.

 

“The Wardens needed to reinforce the seals,” Janeka went on, ignoring Anders. “This requires the blood of a mage untainted by…Warden training.” She sighed. “The last to perform the ritual was Hawke’s father.”

 

“So…my father was indeed a blood mage?” Hawke asked, dumbfounded.

 

“To avert the blights,” Janeka said, “forbidden magics are sometimes necessary.”

  
“That’s an argument we have to guard against,” Anders objected.

 

“And my father knew that,” Hawke added.

 

“He did not bind the demons, if that is your concern,” Janeka almost snarled. “That was done in another era, before the Chantry’s laws.”

 

“Why do my family stories never involve embarrassing vacations in Antiva?” Hawke joked weakly.

 

“Embarrassing? A man such as you could never embarrass himself in Antiva, my friend,” Zevran assured with a sly grin.

 

“Not the time for jokes, Zevran,” Anders let the Antivan elf know.

 

“We need your help,” Janeka told Hawke.

  
“What for?” Mael asked.

 

“I have done extensive research on this Darkspawn and I believe the original Wardens were wrong. He isn’t a threat to humanity – he’s our greatest opportunity.”

 

Anders could see Mael tense at the words.

  
“A Darkspawn who could talk,” Janeka continued to explain, “feel, reason –“

 

“Corypheus cares nothing for blights!” Larius returned to them, limping his way over to Janeka; he looked angry. The first real emotion Hawke could see on the half-ghoul. “He used you!”

 

“The Warden Commander!” one of Janeka’s companions said with a small gasp.

 

Janeka made a face. “Don’t listen to this _creature_ ,” she spat. “He’s half Darkspawn himself.” She turned around, gazing at her three companions intently, before returning her attention to Hawke and his friends. “I know how to harness Corypheus,” she claimed fiercely, “use his magic to end the blights.”

 

Larius shook his head almost desperately, murmuring “no, no” over and over again.

 

Hawke exchanged a concerned look with Anders.

 

“The Wardens knew Corypheus is too powerful,” Larius croaked at Janeka.

 

“Don’t do it,” Anders told Hawke. “You can’t trust a Darkspawn to honor any deal.”

  
“Anders is right,” Mael murmured. “I would know.”

 

“Corypheus calls her and she listens,” Larius insisted. “She brought him the Carta, sent them for you.”

 

“We figured that one out already,” Anders informed Larius.

 

“You must help us,” Janeka insisted, stepping up to Hawke and looking him straight in the eye.

 

She found herself pushed back strongly by Mael placing a hand on her breastplate, putting some distance between Hawke and her. She didn’t resist this slightly rough handling, but glared at the Warden Commander anyway.

  
“Why would Corypheus want to help end the blights?” Mael asked her.

 

“He’s no mindless monster. The search for the Old Gods comes at a terrible cost for him and his people.”

 

“This sounds very familiar,” Anders said with a sigh.

 

“He tricked you,” Larius told Janeka. “These are not your thoughts, they are _his_ Calling.”

 

Anders blended out the following discussion upon hearing those words and instantly knew Larius was right – he had heard it earlier, too, the voice demanding Hawke’s blood, demanding _him_ to bring it. To kill the man he’d die for without hesitation, if it would save his life.

 

“I know a spell to control Corypheus,” Janeka declared loudly, breaking Anders from his thoughts, “to bind him to my will.”

 

“No,” Anders stated. “That is not unlike being possessed by him and trust me when I tell you, you _can’t_ control someone like that. I can already tell he’s very powerful and you are a fool to listen. You’re a Grey Warden, you should know better, Janeka.”

 

Janeka glared at him.

 

“I know what it’s like,” Anders told her. “Don’t even think about it.”

 

“You will listen to him,” Mael told her firmly. “Gather your Wardens and leave this prison immediately, free yourself from his Calling. He looked at Larius. “I would suggest you take him with you but I’m afraid he’s too far gone already.”

 

“Maybe the Commander is right, Janeka,” one of Janeka’s companions spoke up. “This is dangerous.”

 

“He’s the Commander, he _is_ right,” hissed another.

 

“Take your leader away from here,” Mael instructed them. “Follow the way we just came from. We’ve killed most of what crossed our path, you should be safe.”

 

“I will succeed!” Janeka objected.

 

“Anders.”

 

Hawke had never seen Anders react so quickly to a single command. A quick glance, a whirl of his staff and Janeka’s eyes widened in surprise before she dropped to the ground, motionless.

 

The remaining three Wardens eyed her, concerned.

 

“Do as I said,” Mael told them. “She’ll feel better when she wakes up again, given you are far away enough when she does.”

 

“Commander!” The three saluted and the tallest one of them lifted Janeka’s body and threw her across his shoulder before marching off, his two companions in tow.

 

“How are they not equally affected?” Zevran wondered.

 

“Because they have been withstanding the Calling,” Mael said. “Janeka, though, gave into the corruption and the outlook on greater powers Corypheus promised her.”

 

“Thank you,” Larius croaked.

  
“I didn’t do this for you,” Mael said, narrowing his eyes at the half-ghoul. “You will tell me which way to go now and retreat. Find shelter somewhere and stay there. I don’t know what will await us once we reach him and how far that _witch_ progressed with her plans already.”

 

Larius shuffled away a little, head inclined toward the path Janeka and her men had come from moments ago.

 

“Do you really want to leave him behind?” Hawke asked the Warden Commander.

 

“I’m tired of his games. We can do the rest by ourselves,” Mael replied. He nodded at Anders, a small smile on his lips. He reminded Anders of Fenris that moment and suddenly, the mage found himself wishing he was back home. He had made an effort not to think of Fenris too much so he wouldn’t get too distracted until they were done here. “Thank you. Well done.”

 

Anders smiled in response.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Amico mio – My friend


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next to last chapter!  
> I have spared you the various rounds of beating Corypheus (we don't wanna spoil the fun of those who haven't played it yet hahaha *groans* Never hated a boss fight more, even the Archdemon in DAO was a piece of cake, compared to Cory-boy).
> 
> Also, has anyone else ever wondered how an allegedly infertile Grey Warden managed to have a baby with Morrigan? Does the taint have no effect when knocking up mages? If so, Anders needs to start having a lot of babies right now :D

Mael had been right. It had stopped being easy.

 

With a pained groan, Anders leaned against what seemed like a rather heavy chest, his vision blurry. Whatever Corypheus at thrown at him, it had knocked him off his feet and sent him flying across the room, hitting his head against the chest he was now leaning against and disorienting him. Vision blurred, he’d watched as Mael threw himself in front of Hawke to protect him from the powerful creature’s strong blow, sending the Warden Commander across the room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Compassion had pleaded, begged for him to get up and Anders had tried but his body refused to obey. How he had managed to create that Arcane shield that protected Hawke while he charged at Corypheus, over and over again, Anders didn’t know.

 

Zevran was a shadow dancing across the hall, attacking Corypheus when he least expected it, stealthing most of the time and Anders prayed, stronger than ever in his life, that Hawke would survive this.

 

That they would all survive.

Survive and return home.

 

Home.

 _Fenris_.

 

“Fenris,” Anders whispered the beloved name, a weak smile on his lips.

 

_Get up. You need to get up._

 

 

Corypheus had not been at all what they had expected. Then again, Anders wasn’t sure what exactly it was they had expected to face once Hawke had broken the final seal and set the creature free.

 

A distorted figure, like one would expect from a Darkspawn, but Anders had been able to see that this giant had once been human, the strong sensation of magic telling him they were dealing with a former human mage that had somehow turned into – _this_. Confused and disoriented upon waking, Corypheus had believed himself to be caught in yet another dream, speaking of things long in the past. When he spoke of having served Dumat as a High Priest, Anders had seen the shiver running down Mael’s spine. He remembered learning about Dumat. The history of the Blights had been one of the things mages learned in the Circle. Anders had always called it a part of “The reason why everyone hates us” -lessons, back when he was still a scholar at the Circle. Dumat, the first of the Old Gods. The first Archdemon.

 

Anders had always fought against the fable the Chantry preached, about magisters entering the Fade to reach the Golden City. Corrupting it and the Old Gods they claimed to serve, bringing the Blight upon Thedas.

 

He had not anticipated ever meeting the living proof for this ‘fable’ and the mere idea made Anders nauseous.

 

_Get up._

 

His entire body felt like it was on fire, that’s how much pain he was in. The last time Anders had felt like this was after his Joining, with his body adjusting to the taint in his blood. It had burned in his veins, leaving him incapable of even lifting a finger for hours.

 

Still, Anders managed to stand on shaky legs, his vision finally clearing. He saw Hawke, panting harshly, with his sword buried inside Corypheus’ chest. The creature was still, so very still, and Anders dared to breathe. Hawke did it.

 

He…

 

“Hawke,” he whispered hoarsely. He saw the warrior’s shoulders jerk before Hawke turned his head, slowly, to look at him, eyes wide and wild, the aftermath of the Berserk abilities coursing through his body, taut and still ready to strike.

 

With a shaking hand, Anders sent a searching spark of magic through Corypheus’ form; he received no answer.

 

“He’s dead.”

 

Hawke returned his gaze to Corypheus. He was clearly shaken and Anders wanted to run to him, hug him close but knew it was too risky.

 

Slowly, Hawke let go of his sword and backed away, on his knees, allowing himself to slump against a fragment of the ceiling that had come down when Corypheus had attacked, making the entire place vibrate with the force of his magical powers.

  
“Are you alright?” Hawke asked breathlessly.

 

“Concussion,” Anders murmured. “Not sure about the rest of me.”

 

“Maker be damned,” Hawke cursed. “What…what were they thinking…what…”

 

Mael.

 

Anders looked around for the Warden Commander. He had taken a particularly bad blow and not seeing him up on his feet yet worried him. He couldn’t find Mael but he could see Zevran’s blond head in the dark.

  
“Zev?”

 

“He won’t wake up.”

 

Hawke lifted his sore body to glance across the room. “Mael?” he called out.

 

Anders was moving. He didn’t know how he managed to remain on his feet during the first couple steps, but the more he moved, the more steady he became. He could still feel Compassion in the far back of his mind, lingering, waiting. His magic returned and the numb feeling in his body dissipated. Anders cast a healing spell on himself, walking fast now.

 

He crouched down next to Zevran, who was gently shaking Mael’s lifeless form. The sound of heavy boots dragging across stony floor told Anders that Hawke was following.

  
“Maker, no,” Hawke breathed.

 

Anders leaned over Mael, hands cupping the elf’s face. His skin was cold; blood was coming from his ears, staining his white hair and there was one of the nastiest cuts on his forehead Anders had seen yet.

 

“Mael?” Anders croaked. “Maker be _damned_ , elf, don’t you dare.”

 

Zevran looked up to him and his eyes were _pleading_.

 

Anders sent a pulse of healing magic into Mael’s body and waited. It took a moment but eventually, there was a weak response.

  
“He’s alive,” he said around a cough. “Barely, but there’s still life in this blighted elf.”

 

Hawke crouched down next to him. “Will he make it?” he asked. His voice sounded like he had been throttled and Anders glanced at the man’s neck, relieved to not find any bruises.

 

Anders let out a long sigh and tried to concentrate. _Help me_ , he pleaded and Compassion answered immediately, stabilizing the magic inside him before he allowed himself to literally pour it into Mael’s body.

 

With horror, Anders realized that there was barely a bone inside Mael’s body that was _not_ broken. He started with the ribs that had penetrated the elf’s lungs, mending them before healing the lungs themselves. Mael coughed weakly in response, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. Next was the elf’s spine, setting it and putting it back together so the elf would regain sensation from his neck downward. The disconcertingly slow heartbeat sped up slightly once Anders was done there.

 

 _Concentrate_ , he told himself. He had healed many wounds and bodies, but he had never quite dealt with something like this. _What’s next?_

 

The brain. Anders let one hand move up to the Warden Commander’s head, hoping his magic would be enough to heal the damage to the elf’s brain as well. He did not have much experience with this, other than healing the odd concussion or headache but he needed the brain to start telling the body to function. Pump blood. Fill lungs with air. His other hand moved toward Mael’s stomach, renewing flesh, fibers, healing the elf’s internal organs at the same time. Marveling how he would have been out of mana by now but it was still there, full force and Compassion poured its powers into him. Anders gave in and allowed the spirit to take over.

 

He didn’t stop until a slender hand weakly grabbed his that was still resting on Mael’s stomach, squeezing encouragingly.

 

“If you keep going, I’ll end up set back to toddler age,” Mael’s weak voice let him know. Anders opened his eyes and gazed at the Warden Commander.

 

“I am sure you’d be a cute child, yes?” Zevran said, relief clearly visible in his features. “I promise I’ll take good care of you.”

 

“You’ll drag me along when you go on a hunt or to have fun in brothels. Not suitable for a child that age,” Mael shot right back.

 

Hawke chuckled tiredly, almost slumping against Anders when he allowed himself to relax.

 

“What in the Maker’s name did we just deal with?” Hawke asked. “What _was_ that?”

 

“Once you feel better,” Anders let Mael know, “I’ll kill you for dragging us here.”

 

Mael let out a weak chuckle. “And I deserve it.”

 

 

~*~

 

“According to history and what the Chantry likes to preach, the Old Gods began to whisper to humanity. The ancient magisters of Tevinter heeded their call and sought to enter the Fade to claim the Golden City. Dumat, the one Corypheus called for, was the first of Old Gods and the first Archdemon that brought the Blight over Thedas, which nearly annihilated its people. The Grey Warden Order was founded and they found out they possess the ability to slay Archdemons and end blights that way.”

 

Anders leaned back against the cold wall, gaze fixed on the ceiling, somewhere above them, lying in complete darkness. Hawke took another sip from his flask and sighed when the cool water soothed his aching throat.

 

“It was mages who brought corruption to this world and are therefore blamed for the Blights and everything connected to it.” Anders sighed. “I always argued against this story the Chantry kept telling, because I believed it to be nonsense.” He shook his head. “But seeing Corypheus and hearing him call for Dumat’s powers…”

 

“You think he was one of them? One of the seven magisters?” Hawke asked. He remembered his father telling the same story, once he and his siblings had been old enough to hear it. Bethany had had nightmares for weeks after and cried because she had been born a mage and therefore must be evil. It had taken Malcolm a long time to convince her that the mages of the present day couldn’t – and shouldn’t – be blamed for the faults of power-hungry magisters following an Old God’s call.

 

“He had this.” Mael raised a hand, showing the rest of the group an amulet he had retrieved before they started on their way back.

 

“The Seal of Dumat,” Anders murmured. “Maker help us all.” Again, he shook his head.

 

“What will happen to this place now?” Hawke asked tiredly.

 

Mael shrugged. “It will likely fall apart further. Become a new home for Darkspawn from the Deep Roads. I doubt the Wardens we met will return.”

 

“What about Larius?”

 

“Hopefully, the taint will no longer keep him alive,” Anders murmured. “He’s painful to look at.”

  
“Anders,” Hawke chided.

 

“It’s never easy coming face to face with your possible future,” Mael agreed. “It’s why Wardens leave when their Calling comes, in hope of a quick, clean death. No one wants to turn into a ghoul and become the Darkspawn’s slave.”

 

Hawke looked at the Wardens, considering that. It was true, the thought of watching Anders slowly waste away, to end up looking like Larius did, was a painful one. It was hard to picture the mage any differently from what he looked like now, though, alive, vibrant, so young still, younger than he probably was – Hawke had to admit, he didn’t really know how old Anders was, he could guess at best. Same with Mael or even Fenris – the former slave didn’t actually know his age, although Hawke couldn’t imagine he was much older than either of them. “Anders…”

 

The mage glanced at his friend. “Hm?”

 

“I will not let that happen,” Hawke promised quietly. “If Fenris can’t, then…”

 

“Thank you, Garrett.” Anders gave Hawke a sincere smile.

 

“Mael survived slaying the archdemon, yes?” Zevran offered. “I would not put it past our dear Warden to find a cure for the taint before your time comes.”

 

Mael snorted, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Don’t make promises, Zevran. The Grey Warden order, the Joining as well as the Calling are as old as our world itself. If no one managed to find a cure yet, how high are the chances of me finding it?”

 

“You’re the first who survived killing an archdemon,” Anders pointed out.

 

The Warden Commander closed his eyes, the smile disappearing. “Everything comes with a cost.”

 

 

They continued their way once they all had eaten something and Anders cast a healing spell on the group, restoring enough energy to at least make it out of the prison tower. Anders was desperate for fresh air and seeing the sky above his head again. It was quiet in the ruins now; without the calling of a powerful Darkspawn, it seemed whatever creatures had been inhabiting this place fled. Zevran was amused about just having to “follow the trail of corpses” to find their way back out, graciously moving ahead of their group, followed by Hawke. Anders smiled as he watched the two of them chat and Hawke seemed less uncomfortable with the Antivan’s flirting.

 

Mael was walking by his side. He looked defeated and tired, unlike the man Anders knew who always walked with his head raised and his back straight, like he attempted to tower above everyone who might cross their path.

 

“Thank you,” Anders broke the silence between them.

 

“For what?”

 

“You saved Hawke’s life and risked your own.”

 

Mael huffed. “Obviously, it was important to keep Hawke alive if we wanted to defeat Corypheus.”

 

Anders smiled. “It’s not the only reason why you did it.”

 

“I also can’t bear you crying.”

 

The mage snorted.

 

“He’s important to you,” Mael said. “I can understand that. A strong friendship connects the two of you and this very same friendship seems to have changed you. I thought hosting a Fade spirit made you the man you are now, but it would seem your friends had just as much influence on it.”

 

“I do have great friends,” the blond agreed. “Wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.”

 

Mael smiled tiredly at that. “So I gather.”

 

Anders was thoughtful for a moment, letting the past days’ events replay in his mind. So much had happened that he barely had had the time to wrap his mind around them, good things, bad things. He wasn’t sure what would await them, once they returned to Kirkwall. He wasn’t even sure how long they had been down here, as time seemed nonexistent in the Deep Roads and everything connected to them. A day? Two? Three?

 

Was Fenris waiting for him at home, worried out of his skull? Had Varric caused a lot of trouble and annoyance at Viscount’s Keep? Did Meredith execute the mages and Templars that had planned a terrible act with the explosive Anders had mixed together for equally terrible purposes? Did Alistair and Nathaniel make it back okay to Denerim?

 

“If I asked what happened that made you so distant when it comes to Alistair, would you tell me?” Anders blurted out.

 

Mael stiffened next to him.

 

“Do you no longer love him? Is it because he’s king now? I know City elves have never been fond of humans due to the treatment they received from the nobles. I am aware the two of you have been close since the Blight, but things surely changed when Alistair was crowned and –“

 

“Anders.” Mael shook his head, looking even more defeated now.

 

“I always envied the two of you,” Anders admitted. “I remember how you’d light up whenever Alistair announced a visit to Vigil’s Keep or summoned you to Denerim. I remember seeing the two of you together for the first time, the day we met. He didn’t care that Rylock showed nothing but obvious disapproval or that strangers were watching when he kissed you goodbye.” The mage smiled. Just seeing that, an elf and a human, so obviously drawn to each other, had given him a fraction of hope that maybe, things would change in Thedas for good. If an elf could love a _shemlen_ … “He loves you so much,” Anders concluded. “And I know you do, or at least did, the last time we saw each other.”

 

“It is true that Alistair being king now proves to be difficult for our relationship,” Mael agreed quietly. “Obviously, the people in Denerim have expectations. A Grey Warden on the throne was a bitter enough pill to swallow, but they eventually accepted it. They expect him to get married to a woman who can give him an heir to continue the bloodline. Obviously, they blame _me_ for the fact that neither happened yet.”

 

“I thought Grey Wardens can’t…”

 

“We can’t,” Mael confirmed. “The few Grey Wardens who have children had them before being conscripted and undergoing the Joining.” He shook his head. “Alistair is less bothered about this than I. He keeps saying it’s ‘not for the lack of trying’…”

 

Anders snickered. “And obviously, he could change the laws in Denerim if he desires to marry you. I can tell you, it would make a _lot_ of people happy.”

 

“And the Chantry would have his head for it.”

 

“True.” Anders glanced at the Warden Commander. “So… _what_ happened?”

 

There was a long moment of silence between them, filled with the bickering and chatting between Hawke and Zevran who were far ahead by now.

 

“I slayed Urthemiel and survived,” Mael eventually answered. Anders quirked an eyebrow at it. “Obviously,” the Warden Commander continued, “that’s not what should have happened. I should be dead and buried.”

 

Anders nodded.

 

A half smile grazed Mael’s lips. “You feared my judgment on the day I find you. I have never intended to judge you, because it would make me a hypocrite. I’m still alive because I was selfish and made a decision out of selfishness, many years ago.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Morrigan approached me, the night before the battle in Denerim. She said she knows a way to ensure that no Grey Warden will have to sacrifice his life when slaying Urthemiel. I had spent days worrying about the outcome of the battle. It kept me awake at night, knowing that the days to come would mean death for either Alistair or me. Morrigan may have never been overly fond of Alistair, but she and I had come to an understanding and she _knew_ that I would do anything to ensure he and I could stay together, even if I didn’t know what would happen once Alistair was crowned king or what it would mean for us.”

 

Anders frowned. He remembered the tales about Morrigan. He also knew she had disappeared after the the Archdemon had been slain and no one knew where she was these days.

 

“What was the way out?”

 

Mael sighed. “She told me that either Alistair or I need to spend the night with her. She would conceive a child that would host the Archdemon’s spirit once it was slain.”

 

The mage’s eyes widened. “A child hosting the spirit of an Old God?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Anders gave Mael a stern look. “You did it.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So, you are telling me that a Witch of the Wild is out there somewhere, with a child conceived from you, despite the fact that Grey Wardens are _infertile_ , and said child hosts the spirit of an Old God?”

 

Mael averted his gaze. “Meeting Corypheus made me aware, for the first time, what it was I possibly did that night. After you ran away and things had quieted down in Amarathine, I set out to look for her. I knew she would have given birth by then. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be found. I don’t know where she is or _what_ she ended up giving birth to.”

 

Anders felt faint for a moment. He had never heard of such a thing before, a mortal giving birth to an Old God. “But…that child must be…”

 

“Morrigan claimed that the soul of the Archdemon is not tainted and that she would not offer if she wasn’t sure the child would be no threat. She did ask me not to follow her or try to find her, though. Alistair and I get to live, she gets to raise the child.” Mael shrugged. “Apparently, she found something in her mother’s grimoire.”

 

“Flemeth?” Anders recalled the encounter with the woman the Dalish called ‘Asha’bellanar’, up on Sundermount, the day they met Merrill. “She’s very powerful,” the mage agreed. “I could scarcely believe she is a simple apostate mage.”

 

“Fighting Justice in the Fade and nearly losing your eternal life as well left you rather powerful, too,” Mael pointed out. “Every time we encountered Flemeth, I had a feeling there was more to her and whatever Morrigan’s suspicions, they only scratched the surface of the truth. Yet, I could never believe Flemeth was an actual threat. Powerful, yes, but obviously not interested in meddling in the world’s affairs. I bet she would like to hear about you.”

 

“We’ve met,” Anders said. “But I was still hosting Justice at that time.”

 

“A fact I am sure she was aware of.”

 

They fell silent again. The air was becoming noticeably clearer, the further they came to the surface and Anders began to feel impatient. If he hadn’t been so strung out, he would have run until his lungs burned, but not stopping until he was outside and could breathe fresh air.

 

He regarded Mael, who seemed closed off now, lost in his own thoughts. “You didn’t tell Alistair about it,” Anders murmured. “About Morrigan and the child.”

 

“No.”

 

“But wouldn’t he be relieved to hear that you found a way to – oh.” Maker, but he was stupid. “I get it now,” he murmured.

 

“Do you?”

 

“You feel terrible because you cheated on him.”

 

Mael’s features hardened at that and it was all the confirmation Anders needed.

  
“And you don’t know what would happen if you told him. Either he’ll be disappointed and hurt because you slept with Morrigan, and turn away from you, or he’ll be angry but also relieved because it means you did something terrible in order to ensure the two of you could stay together.”

 

“Never mind that I partook in Morrigan conceiving and giving birth to an Old God and have no idea what her plans are,” Mael commented tersely. “I keep waiting for it to bite me in the ass.”

 

Anders hummed in agreement. He remembered his conversation with Fenris the night before he left for the Vimmarks. He hadn’t been wrong, saying that love and fear were the strongest motives; even the Warden Commander had experienced such.

 

“You should tell Alistair,” Anders stated. “I know the mere thought is terrifying, but it’s better to be prepared in case Morrigan indeed planned something and returns to bite you in the ass when you least expect it. Also, the feeling of guilt distances you from him and Alistair can feel it.”

 

Mael frowned.

 

“Love often makes us do stupid things or make terrible decisions.” Anders smiled. “I may not know a lot about love yet, but I know this.”

 

At that, the Warden Commander chuckled sadly. “You are probably right.”

 

 

Ahead of them, Hawke let out a rather loud sigh of relief. Anders paused for a moment when a strong breeze washed over him, cool and with the promise of freedom. They were very close to the surface now. He hadn’t even noticed how close they had gotten to the passage leading to the Carta hideout. It was only a few steps away and Anders felt his heart skip a beat. They made it; he was keeping his promise to Fenris.

 

He’d be home soon.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two (Finale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders had expected a very warm welcome at home - but certainly not the intensity of the heat awaiting them.
> 
> A.k.a. - we have come to the end of 'Suscitatio'.  
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos. A lot of your comments have inspired and sparked bits and pieces within the story, whether you were aware of it or not :) This, err...turned out to be longer in the end than I had suspected but that's how it goes sometimes, yes?
> 
> Seriously, though, thank you - you make writing twice as enjoyable :)
> 
> *runs off for plane to very secret place*

Birds sang cheerfully, accompanied by trees whispering in the wind. The first rays of sun warmed his cheeks and Anders inhaled deeply. The air was damp, yet clear and he smelled green grass and mountain dew. His mother had always argued that no one could actually _smell_ mountain dew but up to this day, Anders claimed he could. He couldn’t exactly say what it smelled of, except for – home, maybe. Or, what used to be home before he’d found himself dragged away by Templars.

 

Amber eyes blinked open, gazing into the pale blue morning sky and Anders smiled. It had been so long since he’d woken up to a beautiful morning. It was chilly but the sun kept the worst of the cold away.

 

Anders let his head roll to the side and found that he was alone. Hawke had been sleeping right next to him, he knew, because the man had snored almost all night. With a frown, Anders sat up and looked around. There was no sight of either of his companions.

 

Neither was this the place they had made camp for the night.

 

A brief moment of panic as Anders gazed around, taking in the sight of the vast plain around him, all green grass and the odd flower slowly raising its head toward the sunlight; the mountains surrounding him; in the distance, a halla dashed off when it caught sight of him.

 

The mage relaxed. “I’m dreaming,” he murmured, smiling again. It had been so very long since he had had a beautiful dream; usually, he had found himself in the Fade, with Justice taking control and not letting him rest, or terrified by nightmares.

 

Slowly, he got to his feet, brushing grass stalk and dirt off his armor and started walking. This was not the Free Marches, he thought. One of the mountains was covered in snow at the top. It was colder than it should be on an early autumn morning. It felt like spring had arrived instead, chasing away the remnants of winter, although it had been a while since Anders had seen an _actual_ winter, with snowstorms and freezing temperatures. Despite its close proximity to the warmer climate in Tevinter, Anderfels was known for its strong winters. Ferelden came close to it, at least the areas near Frostback Mountains, but nothing would ever be as bad as Anderfels. When he was little, Anders had often wondered what it would be like in Tevinter, where it was almost tropically warm, especially in Minrathous, as he sat inside, watching snow fall through the windows, safely wrapped in warm blankets and sitting near the fireside, with his cats curled up around him. After coming to Ferelden, he’d found himself missing those winters and Kirkwall got cold and damp at best during the season; snow was rare and if it did snow, it didn’t stay.

 

The ground he walked on was partially frozen, confirming his thoughts. His surroundings looked familiar. Anders gazed around once more and eventually, his gaze lingered on the snowy mountain top. He remembered it; he had seen it before, at all times of the day. Partially hidden by fog during the early morning hours, reflecting sunlight during the day or moonlight at night. Often, it looked like there was a moonlit path across Lake Calenhad toward Kinloch Hold and all Anders needed to do was follow it into freedom. An almost romantic thought he had often entertained himself with, alone, or with Karl by his side during one of their stolen moments.

 

“Frostback Mountain,” Anders murmured. Andraste’s resting place.

 

A child was giggling, the cheerful sound echoing across the plain. Anders stopped walking and looked around. The grass reached up to his knees by now, lush and green, inviting. Knowing where they had set up camp in the waking world, the mage thought he wouldn’t mind switching places; their camp in the Vimmarks was sandy, hard ground, certainly not suitable to get some actual rest but it had to do.

 

Another giggle and when Anders turned his head into the direction it came from, he found himself faced with a small girl that looked at him expectantly, a wide smile on her face. She couldn’t be older than maybe four or five years old, wearing a simple white cotton dress. She was barefooted, toes curling against the grass. She was quite a little beauty, Anders thought – her blond hair falling down to her tiny shoulders, the big green eyes watching him. And most definitely elven, if the pointed ears were anything to go by.

 

“Hey, little one,” he greeted with a smile of his own.

 

The girl tilted her head, regarding him, tapping her toes. Her smile was a shy one now.

 

The frown came before Anders felt it on his face as he took in her sight again…the color of her hair, the color of her eyes…the pointed ears…

 

She looked like… No. That was impossible. A beautiful, _desirable_ idea but impossible.

 

This was just a dream.

 

 

~*~

 

Anders jerked awake and squinted his eyes at the harsh sunlight. The air was so dry, he had to cough a few times before sitting up with a groan.

 

Zevran was already awake, sitting by the fire and smirking at the mage who was still waking up.

  
“You had a pleasant dream, yes?” the Antivan greeted him. “You had a very beautiful smile on your face.”

 

Anders blinked slowly, the image of that adorable little child still present on his mind. “Beautiful, yet bittersweet,” he said, his voice hoarse and he willed the images away before getting up slowly.

 

Next to him, Hawke was still fast asleep. The snoring had ceased and the man sure looked out cold. Anders couldn’t blame his best friend – their trip had been exhausting, shocking to a degree and not something he would want to do again, anytime soon.

 

Mael was awake as well, sitting a few feet away from their camp on a rock and kept an eye on their surroundings. Anders wondered if the Warden Commander had slept at all.

 

“How long was I asleep?” Anders asked as he sat down next to Zevran.

 

“It is almost noon,” Zevran told him. “Depending on when your handsome friend wakes up, we should reach Kirkwall by sunset.”

 

“Maker…” Anders rubbed over his face. “It was dark when we made camp.”

 

“Yet morning was not far when we did.”

 

“You kept watch all night?”

 

Zevran smiled. “I did. Mael slept poorly and kept me company whenever he was awake.”

 

Hawke snorfled on his bedroll and Anders threw him a look across his shoulder. His friend was finally waking up, kicking his legs and burying his face into his small pillow, silently asking for only a few more minutes.

 

“Mael is considering destroying the Warden prison completely, to make sure no one finds it and whatever else is hiding in there.”

 

Anders hummed in agreement. “Corypheus might be gone, but if some maleficar finds the place…or Janeka ends up returning to finish what she started…”

 

Zevran nodded.

 

“Does he want to turn around and do it now?”

 

“No. He plans to send a unit of Grey Wardens here for the task. He expressed his desire to go home, after we accompanied you back to Kirkwall.”

 

“Back to the Keep?”

 

“I believe he was referring to another home, yes?” Zevran smiled mischievously and Anders felt himself brighten up.

 

“Alistair will be happy,” the mage murmured.

 

“After he is done being pissed about Mael sending him away, whether it was for Nathaniel’s sake or not.”

 

Anders chuckled, the sound attracting Mael’s attention. Despite not having slept much, the Warden Commander looked rested when he looked at them, a small smile on his lips.

 

“Maker, how is it morning already?” Hawke groaned behind them.

 

“It is noon, actually, my dear Garrett,” Zevran informed the man. “I have been letting you sleep for as long as you need.”

 

“Noon?” Hawke bolted up so fast, his head spun in protest. “Maker, I slept half the day away?”

 

“So did I,” Anders assured him. “I woke up only minutes ago.”

 

“We should eat and get going,” Mael announced as he approached the three of them, nodding at the horizon. Already, Anders could see the lush greens of Sundermount in the distance. They would only cross the area briefly before entering one of the many tunnels leading back to Kirkwall, yet he couldn’t wait for the climate change this would bring. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky. “It seems a storm is coming.”

 

“Would be a nice cool-off,” Anders mused.

 

“Soaked boots are a pain to walk in, though,” Hawke said around a yawn. “Did anyone say something about food?”

 

 

Not much food was left after they had eaten most of their rations the night before, but it was enough to lift Hawke’s spirits, especially knowing that Kirkwall was not far anymore and there would be food and a nice, hot bath waiting for him. As they marched toward the city, Hawke praised Orana’s cooking skills and ended up telling Zevran about how he’d found the girl in the first place.

 

Mael was walking by Anders’ side again but this time, the silence between them was a comfortable one. Anders figured Mael had the same thoughts as him – the thought of home and a loved one waiting for them to return. The mage was almost giddy with excitement by the time seemingly endless trees reaching up to a dark blue sky offered them shelter from the hot sunlight. It sometimes astounded him, how easily he had adapted to being seriously committed to someone; to have a place to call home for the first time since his childhood. To know that the long days of loneliness had come to an end and he had found what he, deep down, always had desired for himself. There was a beautiful man waiting for him, who, against all odds and premises, had found it in him to love Anders.

 

He glanced at the Warden Commander. When he’d first contacted Mael, he had feared having to face him again. Now, Anders wondered if he’d miss them. Having returned to the Grey Wardens, if only for a short while, he had come to understand what it had truly meant for him when he’d agreed to be conscripted. Vigil’s Keep had been home to him as well and Anders wondered if he would still be there, happy and content, if he hadn’t found reason to run, yet again. Would he still be teaching the young mages wanting to join the order? Many apostates had come to Amaranthine after hearing that one had been conscripted with the blessing of the king, offering their services. Mael had taken in every single one of them; Anders had taught those who had great potential, others were allowed to stay and function as healers, or nursemaids for the orphaned kids in Amaranthine. He wasn’t sure what had happened to them after Anders’ escape and the Templars’ attempts to infiltrate the Grey Wardens in order to get a hold on the apostate mages, as they had done with him, but something told him they were safe and there was no need to ask Mael about them.

 

“Thank the Maker!” Hawke shouted joyfully and both, Anders and Mael, looked up to find the entrance to the tunnels what marked the final passage of their way home. Even though they had just been in the Deep Roads and Anders had no desire to visit them anytime soon, the tunnels looked so very inviting and were – thankfully – not really connected to the Deep Roads.

 

“Someone’s excited,” Mael commented with a smirk.

 

“So am I!” Anders sighed loudly.

 

“Race you home?” Hawke asked with a laugh.

 

Anders snorted and shook his head with a smile. The sun was low on the horizon by now and it would get dark soon. It would take them an hour, maybe two, to reach Kirkwall now and even though he felt as impatient as Garrett, after all the fighting and facing Corypheus, he did not have the energy to run.

 

“He’s like a little kid sometimes,” Anders commented. “Especially when he gets excited about something.”

 

“Like you whenever I found something _shiny_ ,” Mael teased. “I clearly remember how beside yourself you were when I found that earring and gave it to you.”

 

Anders blushed and cleared his throat, then winced when slender fingers grabbed the earring in his right ear, tugging a little. “You kept it, I see.”

  
“Actually I sold it shortly after coming to Kirkwall, for something to eat. Had met a group of children on that ship that took me to Ferelden and they were starving. After meeting Hawke and making some coins thanks to him always getting decent jobs to take care of, I found the merchant I originally sold it to and found he still had it. Bought it back.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It was your first gift to me.”

 

Mael looked surprised.

 

“The first gift I had ever received in general,” Anders added. “I missed it every single day after I sold it and I happen to be very fond of it. I left everything else you ever gave me behind at Vigil’s Keep.”

 

There was a very faint blush on Mael’s cheeks and he inspected the earring. “It’s a little tinged by now,” he said. “If Fenris ever wonders what he should get you as a gift for your Name Day or Satinalia, you should suggest a new earring.”

 

Name Day? Satinalia? Anders frowned. They did somewhat celebrate Satinalia during the past few years – Hawke would invite them to his estate, having a gift ready for each of them. Anders had usually snuck off early. It had made him uneasy. But his Name Day – he wasn’t even sure when that was, anymore. His birth name was long forgotten and with it, the day on when to celebrate it.

 

Maybe he had to decide on a new Name Day for himself.

 

“Fenris not into making gifts?” Mael asked when he noticed the frown.

 

Anders reached up, carefully lifting the shoulder piece of his armor. Only a fraction but enough to peek at the bite mark on his pale skin. It had healed nicely and was about to fade and Anders felt himself grin like a fool when he realized he was keeping two promises to Fenris  - returning home before the bite mark faded.

 

Mael made a face when he saw it. “Did he draw blood?”

 

“He, uh – yes?”

 

At the elf’s alarmed expression, Anders hastened to assure: “He didn’t lick it off or swallow it. I didn’t let him.” That wasn’t quite the truth but close enough. At least, Anders _hoped_ nothing had happened to the elf after biting him.

 

“Good. I can hardly imagine anything worse than infecting your lover with the taint.”

 

“You two coming or what?” Hawke called. “I’d like to get out of this armor and into my bathtub before nightfall!”

 

“Ah and I’d rather like to see that,” Zevran purred. “I am invited, yes?”

 

Anders laughed when Garrett’s face turned bright red at that and he coughed awkwardly.

  
“Zevran, stop trying to _corrupt_ him,” Anders told the Antivan with a smirk.

 

“Oh, don’t tell me he’s spoken for?”

 

Anders grinned widely as he followed a positively flustered Hawke into the tunnel, the blunt end of his staff lighting up to illuminate the dark passage. “Oh, I don’t know…are you spoken for, Garrett?”

 

“I, uh –“ Again, Hawke coughed.

 

“I guess not.”

 

“Well, then I see no reason to stop _corrupting_ him,” Zevran purred and Anders cackled evilly when Hawke shot him a dirty look.

 

“You’re insatiable, Zevran,” Mael remarked dryly.

 

“You wound me, Mael. May I remind you that I haven’t been with anyone in weeks?” Zevran offered a fake pout.

  
“I dare say with the exception of Anders, none of us had any for _weeks_ , Zevran.”

 

“Do I hear frustration?” Anders teased the Warden Commander.

 

“Nathaniel is to blame for that, yes?” Zevran grinned widely and Mael blushed.

  
“What did he do?”

 

“Oh, well, see, Alistair was –“

 

“Zevran,” Mael growled.

 

“I think I’ll just go home without you,” Hawke called from far ahead. Anders blinked and hurried to catch up with Garrett while Zevran and Mael continued to bicker. The mage was laughing quietly by the time he reached Hawke’s side and smiled at him.

  
“Don’t mind Zevran,” he said. “He’s a flirt.”

 

Hawke rolled his eyes with a smile. “I don’t mind it too much. It’s good to know I’m still on the market, so to speak.”

  
“What, you ever doubted that?” Anders reached over and patted Hawke’s back. “Thought Isabela was interested?”

  
“Isabela is not someone who would settle down,” Hawke pointed out. “Which I believe you are aware of, ‘Sparklefingers’.”

 

Anders laughed awkwardly at that and shook his head. “Yeah, she won’t let me live that down for as long as I live, I’m afraid.”

 

“Do I want to know?”

 

“Ah, it’s a secret.” The mage grinned. “Which I only ever reveal in bed, Garrett.”

 

“And yours is occupied by one scary elf I will not mess with.”

 

“I’m not scared of that one,” Zevran suddenly purred into Anders’ ear. The mage yelped in surprise and the Antivan cackled.

 

“Maker _damn_ it, Zevran, I almost fireballed you!” Anders complained. “Don’t _do_ that.”

 

“I’d be wary of him, Zevran,” Mael piped up behind them. “He’s not one to mess with.”

 

“Fenris is not so bad,” Anders murmured. “But he’s a very experienced fighter. I wouldn’t put my coin on Zevran, that’s for sure.”

 

Hawke chuckled.

 

“I may teach Fenris a thing or two before we leave for Denerim,” Mael said.

 

“Ah, yes, you said something like that when we first met,” Hawke remembered.

 

“Please tell me we are not talking Reaver abilities?” Anders said. When he was met with silence, he sighed. “We _are_ talking Reaver abilities.” He threw a look across his shoulder. “You will _not_ make him drink dragon blood, Mael. Maker knows what all Danarius did to him, he might react badly.”

 

Mael looked thoughtful. “I have not considered that,” he admitted.

 

“How did he obtain those beautiful markings anyway?” Zevran asked.

 

Anders and Hawke exchanged a look. “Story time?” Hawke eventually asked with a small grin.

 

 

~*~

 

They smelled smoke before they saw it. It envenomed the air, carrying the smell of burned wood, metal and flesh.

 

Anders was first to exit the tunnel, coughing when the thick smoke attacked his airways and burned in his eyes. He wiped them and looked up, breath catching in his throat and a sickening feeling coursing through his body.

 

The darkening evening sky was on fire, clouds tinged with red. Thick black smoke hung like a suffocating blanket over Kirkwall and the breeze carried screams and cries across the plains. A sudden explosion had the ground beneath their boots shake violently and more smoke soared toward the sky, flames flickering high into the sky from where Anders knew the Chantry to be. He watched as the city’s gates burst open, people fleeing, the one or other shoved to the ground and trampled over as the panicked mass of Kirkwall residents attempted to escape the flames and smoke.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Hawke exclaimed.

 

Anders’ knees buckled and he sank to the ground, unable to take his eyes off the scene before him.

 

Kirkwall was burning, the fire consuming everything in its way. A watchtower near the gates collapsed and Anders knew it took a few people with it, burying them alive, when panicked screams followed.

 

Hawke ran past him and toward the wide open gates. Someone grasped his shoulder and still, Anders could not take his eyes off the burning city.

 

 _See you in a few days_.

 

Anders’ throat constricted, terror-stricken and he heard himself gasp a few times, trying to breathe. Someone called his name but it sounded so very far away.

 

A jolt went through his body and before he knew it, Anders lept to his feet and started to run as fast as his feet carried him. He forced his way through the masses as he reached the gate, looking around hastily for a familiar face but finding none save for the odd person he remembered healing at his clinic.

 

He took the staircase leading to Hightown Square, fighting off people that either clung to him or tried to push him out of the way, by casting barriers or mind blasts at them.

  
The Square lay in ruins; merchant stalls had caught fire and it had spread across the place, setting trees alight, burned banners hanging from several buildings. Several bodies lay motionless on the ground, some spotting terrible burns, others had probably been stomped to death.

 

Anders turned left, desperate now and found his worst thoughts confirmed when he finally reached the desired destination.

 

Fenris’ mansion was alight as well, flames flickering out of broken windows and a hole in the roof. Just behind the mansion, Anders could see the silhoutte of the Chantry that was almost completely hidden behind thick smoke. Flames flickered out of the collapsed Chantry roof, burning parts continuously falling into the courtyard in front.

 

With a weak cry, Anders found himself falling to his knees once again, gaze fixed on the burning mansion. His home. Their home.

 

 _See you in a few days_.

 

A sob tore free from his throat and Anders slumped.

 

 _Bad things happen if I love someone_.

 

Anders drew a shaky breath and told himself to focus. “Fenris.” _I shouldn’t have left._

 

Fenris.

He had to find him.


End file.
